



i >oi>:ic 



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; and my Son in tfye Summer of I9 l 




Class 

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GopyiightN 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



This is one of an edition of two hundred 

copies printed from type in the 

month of July, nineteen 

hundred and three 

No. 2-»o 



<\x\rmSLxJ Cruu»>4^cyv\j Tco-oxa-oJUj 



SOME ACCOUNT OF THE TRAV- 
ELS OF MYSELF AND MY SON 
IN THE SUMMER OF NINE- 
TEEN HUNDRED AND TWO 




hos 



THE LlERARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Recuivod 

JUL 29 1903 

(\ Ccpynght tnliy 

" " z.- / <\ o 3 

CLASS cu XXc. No 

& 3, ' ^ I 

COPY D. 



J3S7ZS 



Copyright, 1903, by 
James C. Parrish 





immer 

HE fourth of July, 1902, 
was a warm, bright day in 
Paris, and Paris was very 
glad of it. There had been 
little summer weather in June, and the few 
bright days that had come at the end of 
that usually brilliant month had filled the 
suburban trains with many a gay party. 
Prom my window at the Ritz, overlooking 
the garden of the Ministere de la Justice, 
taking in a broad expanse of sky, where 
from the hazy horizon rose the iron lace- 
work of the Tour Eiffel, I looked with 
pleasure at the indications of the weather, 

3 



having determined to deny myself the 
enjoyment of being present at the celebra- 
tion by the American colony of our " glo- 
rious anniversary " and to hie me to Lon- 
don, stopping on the way for a sea bath 
at Boulogne-sur-Mer. 

The 8.45 morning train for London 
carries many travellers whose lives seem 
well ordered, early risers, well-to-do peo- 
ple, outside the world of fashion, to whom 
the early morning is perhaps more en- 
joyable than the late hours of the night. 
Of this number were my two chance com- 
panions in our comfortable railway car- 
riage, a gentleman and his wife. They 
both insisted on my smoking, the husband 
joining me in a cigar. This led to conver- 
sation wherein I soon found by their ac- 
cent that my new acquaintances were from 
the North Country, which naturally led to 
my reviving my Yorkshire days. My new 
friend was the proprietor of woollen mills, 
and entertained me by showing me sam- 

4 



pies of fine Cashmere wools and telling me 
much that was interesting regarding them. 
I gave his wife a small box of strawberries 
at Amiens, which pleased them both, and 
when we bade each other good-bye at Bou- 
logne, it was not, I think, without a feel- 
ing that we had all three appeared to ad- 
vantage to each other. 

A look, something between a bow and a 
nod and a smile, to " La Belle Caroline " 
in the fish-market, who still preserves 
her commanding presence and majestic 
beauty, telegrams to Louise and the 
Berkeley (both of which I found later had 
arrived in a mutilated condition) , were the 
principal events that preceded my delight- 
ful bath in the Channel, the refreshing 
waters of the North Sea having for me 
a special virtue as a bracer. 

A bountiful lunch at the little restau- 
rant on the Jette, where I partook of 
fresh sole, among other delicacies, and 
where I watched the fishing-boats passing 
5 



lazily out to sea, with a steamer tug or two 
coming to and fro, reviving many Bou- 
lognaise recollections of the past, some on 
this very spot, occupied the time until, 
when it neared three in the afternoon, I 
determined on having a nap at the " Im- 
perial," that I might be fresh for the in- 
strumental concert at the Casino. 

Boulogne has changed little these past 
thirty-odd years that I have known it. 
The spacious courtyard of the " Hotel des 
Bains," into which Thackeray's impatient 
Englishman might have called down from 
his bedroom window, "De dong, garsong, 
vooly voo me donny lo sho, ou vooly voo 
pah?"; the dining-room, where, with the 
consequential air of the Briton, he orders 
"grilled ham, cold chicken, and boiled 
eggs " for his " first breakfast," are there 
just as they have been for fifty years 
or more ; the " Imperial," with its name 
imbedded in its slate roof, perhaps on the 
very spot where Louis Napoleon let loose 
6 



his tame eagle, and waited for his uncle's 
admirers to crowd around him (he might 
as well have waited for the ghosts of La 
Grande Armee), stands in all its grey- 
loneliness, and looks as desolate as ever. 

Calais, these last few years, has gone 
through great changes. Hogarth's gate 
has been swept away to make room for the 
new docks, and so with the old station, 
with its cosy corner, where in the early 
days of the Denver and Rio Grande, when 
I was to and fro many times a year be- 
tween London and Amsterdam, we had 
such good breakfasts, on the arrival of 
our train from Brussels an hour or two 
ahead of the Paris express. George Hud- 
son, England's dethroned railway king, 
was our guest at times, his broad, good- 
humoured Yorkshire face defying the 
sting of exile and poverty, as he enlivened 
our little party with entertaining stories of 
the past, we little thinking that Wall 
Street was hurrying to a railroad panic 
7 



and the same financial chaos that had en- 
gulfed him, driven him from home and 
made him an exile. Sterne, once outside 
the Hotel Dessein, would not know the 
place; not so with Boulogne, which seems 
to have been finished, for all time, long 
years ago. May it so remain! 

A light dinner at the Christophle pre- 
ceded my departure for Albion. On the 
steamer I met an Oxford professor who 
had been taking his family to a seaside re- 
sort, lately created at the terminus of a 
trolley line, some five miles along the coast 
toward Cape Gris Nez. He was pleased 
to tell me of the degree they had conferred 
on Lord Cromer. I imagine he had had 
a hand in the ceremonies, and enjoyed the 
light reflected from the great man. He 
was desirous to know my views regarding 
Cecil Rhodes' American scholarships, of 
which I thought most highly, hinting, how- 
ever, that their importance should not be 
overestimated. His visit to the Continent, 



or my nationality, seemed to stimulate his 
desire to be agreeable, our exchange of 
views making the smooth crossing, softly 
lighted by the long midsummer twilight, 
only too soon over. 

Among Continental travellers the Chan- 
nel has few friends. I am one of them. 
I must have crossed it some hundreds of 
times, and in every month of the year. I 
have seen it smooth and glassy, in Janu- 
ary, and tossed by frightful tempests in 
midsummer. I have crossed after the 
" Grand Prix," when there was only stand- 
ing-room on the deck, and when one of the 
gay party accompanying the Marquis of 
Hastings, whose horse had won the great 
race, ingeniously inserted a folded camp- 
stool among the legs of the passengers, 
eager to work their way off the boat and 
find seats in the London train. I can see 
the man's coarse grin now, as he listened 
to the imprecations of his fellow-passen- 
gers, struggling with this unexpected ob- 
9 



stacle. I have crossed during the Franco- 
Prussian war when the boats were de- 
serted. In those days almost every one 
took the Belgian line to Ostend. I have 
crossed during the Commune when the 
trains to Paris had ceased to run, and I 
was the only passenger. 

Standing in the forward part of the 
boat by night, watching her shoot through 
the dark sea underneath us, the curling 
waves phosphorescent, and the spray fall- 
ing like sparks from the blacksmith's anvil, 
the sensation of life on the sea is to me at 
its best. 

On one of our large ocean-liners, one 
is too far from the water to realize the 
speed at which she is going. Not so with 
the Channel boats, where it is almost like 
shooting the rapids. 

To our left, the north and south fore- 
land lights throw into space their brilliant 
rays. As I think of Clark Russell's vivid 
description of the " Grosvenor," and her 
10 



mutinous crew, dropping down the Chan- 
nel, not far from where we are, a mysteri- 
ous feeling comes over me as that weird 
account of the ill-fated ship fills my 
thoughts. A flash-light twinkles from 
Calais, growing stronger and stronger as 
the foreland lights dwindle away. The 
reader will see that I have chosen my de- 
scription as England sinks in the horizon, 
not thoughts aroused in the pleasant 
Fourth-of-July crossing we have just 
made, but rather the accumulated impres- 
sions of years. 

A conversation with a substantial-look- 
ing Englishman, approaching his fiftieth 
year, shortened the journey from Folke- 
stone to London. His opinion was that 
all this fuss over the coronation was much 
out of place. "We are a republic," he said, 
"and why should we make such a time over 
one of our constitutional acts, no more im- 
portant than others that pass unheeded by 
the public? " 

11 



I had a few words with the driver of the 
locomotive as we waited for the customs at 
Charing Cross, a man of good manners, 
and, I imagine, good nerves, from the way 
he drove us over the last fifty miles, reply- 
ing to my allusion to our speed with the 
statement that if they would give him ten 
minutes more he would have brought us 
along comfortably, "but, you see, the pub- 
lic compel us to make time." 

It was near midnight as I rolled by the 
tawdry decorations of St. James Street, 
here and there half dismantled, in a four- 
wheeler that was not a bad match for the 
surroundings. 

People speak of London being so solid, 
much more so than Paris. For my part, 
I cannot see it. Certainly the dwellings 
of Paris are more imposing than many 
miles of the brick fronts that one meets in 
nearly every thoroughfare of London. 

A good room at the Berkeley, with a 
blanket heavy enough for the Arctic re- 
12 



gions, which, as the one hot spell of the 
summer was on, made one warm to look 
at, a comfortable night, the usual visit to 
my tailor in the morning, a hasty glance 
at the works of the old masters in the sev- 
eral Bond Street shops, to the Royal 
Academy, where there is a picture by 
Sargent — the Ladies Acheson — that ex- 
ceeds in beauty any modern, if not ancient 
portrait picture that I am now able to call 
to mind, combining, it seems to me, the 
grace of Hoppner, the strength of Velas- 
quez, and the subtle charm of Gainsbor- 
ough. 

This busy morning over, I hurried to 3 
Buckingham Gate, to lunch with Aleck 
and Louise, where I received an affection- 
ate welcome, and passed two hours in that 
blissful life of a delightful present united 
to a past full of the many, many memories 
of my happy married life. 

After lunch Aleck and I went to Lon- 
don Bridge station to see Louise despatch 

13 



one party of her " Girls' Club " to the sea- 
side for a two weeks' outing, and another 
party which she had in tow for an after- 
noon at a friend's house, where they were 
to have a "garden party." 

The "Girls' Club" is a labour of love of 
my daughter. Finding, on a visit with her 
husband to his mine in Oregon, that she 
had power over the turbulent miners, who, 
under her influence, became repentant and 
obedient, she determined to see what she 
could do to improve the lives of young 
girls living in the East End of London; 
choosing Whitechapel, that sink of crime 
and iniquity, pretty much abandoned by 
the charitable, who have declared that no 
good could come out of Hoxton. 

The girls pay a small sum weekly, which 
is supposed, more or less, to run the Club. 
They also deposit, at frequent intervals, 
such sums as they can spare, with Louise, 
who credits them with it, and this is sup- 
posed to pay for their two weeks' summer 

14 



outing. A girl who was obliged to draw 
out her deposit, owing to the necessities of 
her mother, who was taken ill, lost her out- 
ing. I believe some means were found 
partially to compensate her for it. This 
will give some idea of the strictness of 
the discipline, and the feeling of self-help, 
which is thoroughly impressed on every 
girl. 

Louise, some day, I hope, will tell her 
own story: how she has been appealed to 
by the London County Council, who give 
her all the assistance she will accept, and 
how she was asked to address a distin- 
guished company at the Mansion House, 
and many events, I feel sure, of which I 
am ignorant. All I know is, that un- 
aided by her own class, affecting by 
dress to be as one of her girls, and 
avoiding all allusion to religion, she has 
gathered around her the children of pa- 
rents steeped in vice, desperate at times 
through poverty and drink, patiently in- 

15 



structing her little wards by association, 
as well as by word; has beautified them 
in thought and deed, and sends them 
home, night after night, as little min- 
isters of good into the wretched lives of 
their parents. Clergymen, the Salvation 
Army, emblems of the Cross, are held in 
derision or hatred in this part of London. 
Louise's success is the triumph of good- 
ness without church or creed. Surrounded 
by her two parties of girls, attired so 
plainly that I did not, at first, recognize 
her, she was ready to receive us, and at 
once presented us, right and left. My 
name was not altogether unknown, as I 
believe I am used as an explanation of 
what seems, at times, too free a use of 
money for a working girl, even if she be at 
the head of a club. 

Just as I was becoming acquainted with 
the girls, guessing their ages, telling the 
little ones they would soon grow tall, and 
overestimating the ages of the tall ones, 
Louise told Aleck and me that we had bet- 
16 



/ 



ter go. We did go, and not knowing what 
to do, we rode in the Tube — which I 
very much wanted to see — westward, and 
finally, with the use of tramways, arrived 
at Kew Gardens, where we much admired 
the trees and enjoyed the beautiful sum- 
mer afternoon, a treat that so rarely comes 
to London, all of which revived in me my 
efforts at enjoyment in this way thirty 
years or more ago. 

We dined at the Berkeley, and then to 
a stupid play, where Charles Hawtrey's 
brother was trying to imitate Charles' tal- 
ents without much success. We were 
driven out at the end of the second act by 
ennui, and repaired to the Berkeley, and 
after a half hour or more over our cigars 
and tall tumblers filled with harmless 
drinks, bade each other good night. 

Sunday, July 6th. 

Full of delightful anticipations, I took 
the early morning express from Padding- 
17 



ton for Exeter, en route for Plymouth to 
meet my son. My companion in the rail- 
way carriage was an English army offi- 
cer, lately returned from South Africa. 
After an hour's silent criticism of each 
other, over the newspapers, we broke the 
silence, and soon drifted into an animated 
conversation, stretching from South Af- 
rica to Salt Lake, and winding up with 
an elaborate programme as to how I was 
to see the best of Devonshire in forty- 
eight hours, which included a card of in- 
troduction to the ship-chandler at the 
mouth of the Wye, who was to provide a 
boat in which to ascend the river, the tides 
having been ascertained from a pocket 
almanac and the whole programme ar- 
ranged to a nicety. Sad to say, it never 
came off, the exceptional heat deciding 
me, when the time came, to give it up. 

Two hours at Exeter, mostly passed at 
the cathedral, where during service I read, 
on the tablets in the wall, the names of 

18 



many Exeter men who had fallen in the 
Crimea and elsewhere; a new bronze 
plaque, of considerable size, adding a sad 
list of South African fatalities. 

Those familiar with the impressions 
produced by an English cathedral town 
on a warm Sunday afternoon — the neatly 
dressed women demurely walking the 
streets (household servants for the greater 
part), the almost entire absence of vehi- 
cles, the tightly closed shops, the solem- 
nity of the hotel, where the buzzing of the 
fly alone disturbs the silence; the general 
air of conservative respectability which 
meets you at every turn — will agree with 
me, I think, that two hours are sufficient 
to gratify one's curiosity. So, nothing 
loath to leave, I took the train from Exe- 
ter to Plymouth, a two hours' run, the lat- 
ter part much by the seaside, where the 
cool sea breeze, with its pungent odour of 
seaweed, came gratefully over the salt 
marshes exposed by the fallen tide. 
19 



The hotel at Plymouth is close to the 
railway station, and is the average Eng- 
lish railway hotel, partaking in its char- 
acter of much that is unattractive in both 
English and American life : a busy porter, 
a neat-looking woman presiding at the 
desk, somewhat severe in appearance and 
decidedly formal in manner, and a sprink- 
ling of American travellers, talking 
loudly of their affairs at dinner and in the 
halls, in apparent oblivion of the existence 
of others. 

A walk to the concert in the Pavilion 
at the end of the pier; an offer to find a 
lost child for a young woman, resulting in 
wandering to and fro in vain, the child 
having undoubtedly turned up somewhere 
on the extensive esplanade, where most of 
Plymouth congregates on a fine summer 
Sunday evening, and a good night's rest 
in a dingy room, completed this interest- 
ing day. 



20 



Monday, July 7th. 

Rising early, as is my custom, I sought 
where I might enjoy a bath in the sea, 
which, with the assistance of my cab-driver, 
I found with little difficulty. Breakfast, 
and then to the tender which was to take 
me to meet my son on the " Kronprinz." 
After a long separation, and the unknown 
week of the Atlantic crossing, there is a 
feeling of not altogether pleasurable ex- 
citement as one awaits the moment of 
recognition. Something might have hap- 
pened. 

We sighted the " Kronprinz " well out 
at sea. The white foam broke around her 
cutwater, and when we finally drew up to 
her, with the hundreds of heads appear- 
ing over the rail, I had a nervous feeling 
until I saw a Groton ribbon, and the next 
moment the smile of Jimmy, who looked 
the picture of health and happiness. I 
filed on to the steamer, kissed my son, was 

21 



shown his state-room, and duly presented 
to one or two of his intimates. After the 
stream of baggage, of all sorts and kinds, 
was transferred we steamed away, quickly 
losing sight of the leviathan behind a point 
of land, and were soon at the dock at Ply- 
mouth, where a long boat train awaited us. 

The thousand cigars brought me were 
soon passed at the custom-house, with a 
moderate sum paid in duties. 

The ride to London was rather warm 
work. Lunch in the dining-car, the sight 
of green fields, with here and there herds 
of little red Devon cattle, now and then 
an object of interest, the towers of Exeter 
Cathedral, the Thames, enlivened at times 
by a boating party, and the general ex- 
hilaration from the speed with which we 
were going, passed the time agreeably, 
bringing us to London about five o'clock. 

Colonel Borup was on the platform 
awaiting his son George, who was of our 
party. 

22 



Our stay in London was to be but three 
or four days; so, as the evening was fine 
and warm, I planned dinner at the Star 
and Garter. We caught the train at Wa- 
terloo, with a minute to spare. At the 
hotel we found a large company — the 
Basket-makers, some two hundred strong 
— dining. The waiter confidentially in- 
formed us that the dinner was sixteen 
shillings a head without wine, and that 
they had had the Basket-makers for a 
number of years. 

The view from the Star and Garter, the 
placid Thames, the expanse of green in all 
directions, was as I had seen it twenty or 
more years ago, and the dinner quite the 
same, good to those just off ship, poor to 
one fresh from the Ritz. 

After dinner, a stroll on the terrace, 
then a commodious cab with a fairly good 
horse, the driver consenting to take us as 
far as Hammersmith. He said it was all 
his horse ought to do. From there we 

23 



took the Underground. A railroad por- 
ter, to my question if the Tube had hurt 
them much, replied in an injured tone, "It 
does not carry all the passengers." 

Our companions in the compartment 
were an Anglo-American party of the 
middle class of life, whose conversation 
entertained us much. The American was 
bragging of his country, and the English 
members of the party, seemingly some- 
what depressed by our assertive fellow- 
countryman, were asking questions at rare 
intervals in a subdued tone. 

George Borup's father desired that his 
son's visit to Europe should be an educa- 
tion as well as a pleasure, and to this end 
he had engaged a tutor to show George 
London, so that we lost him the following 
day. 

July 8th. 

After a good breakfast in that cheer- 
ful breakfast-room at the Berkeley, we 

24 



called at Hill Brothers and ordered cer- 
tain suits of clothes. I did not take my 
son there in a high silk hat, and did not 
stand over him as he was being measured, 
and look as if I were sorry for his exist- 
ence, as I have seen English fathers do. 
On the contrary, we soon separated in the 
shop, Jimmy choosing his own stuffs, 
after asking my opinion, and conducting 
his purchases independently, meeting me 
later on. 

We lunched with Louise and Aleck 
and had one of those delightful family 
reunions, where affection prompted our 
conversation, and smiles of delight at 
being together passed from face to face. 

After lunch, Aleck, Jimmy and I went 
to Lord's and saw the gentlemen players 
versus the professionals. Jimmy soon 
" caught on " to the game, and was in no 
hurry to leave. 

We dined together at the Berkeley, and 
went to the Empire. The night was 

25 



warm and I found a cool breeze coming 
through the open door of Windmill 
Street, almost as pleasing as the ballet. 

On the following morning, July ninth, 
we were off to Henley, having added 
George Borup to our party. The warm, 
bright spell of weather that we had en- 
joyed since my arrival in England was 
drawing to a close, and prudence sug- 
gested an umbrella. I had left my Pan- 
ama hat in Paris, and seeing that rain 
might come, I thought a low-crowned 
black hat would not be amiss. 

Arriving at Paddington, the gay 
throng in summer attire that visitors to 
Henley know so well, crowded the plat- 
forms. All the men wore Panama hats, 
the brims curved to suit the taste of the 
wearer. 

Almost immediately opposite the sta- 
tion at Henley was a branch shop, opened 
for the races, with all kinds of yachting 
goods, including Panama hats. I hesi- 
26 



tated, but passed on with the throng. 
Before entering the enclosure to which 
our guinea tickets entitled us, I saw 
a very decayed-looking individual wear- 
ing a hat like mine, the first billycock I 
had seen. This was too much for me, so 
I said, " Jimmy, I am going back to buy 
a Panama hat." " All right," he said ; " I 
will go with you." The selection was 
made subject to his taste, which I discov- 
ered was on his part with an eye to future 
ownership. 

Before the day was out, a thunder- 
shower, turning into a cold storm, made 
Panama hats most unsuitable headgear. 
The effect of the storm on the river was to 
turn the bright, gay colors into sombre 
drab and black, as each lady donned her 
waterproof, all effected in a few moments. 
A feature of the day was the presence of 
the Indian princes, slender in figure, re- 
fined in manner, richly attired, carrying 
themselves with an ease and grace that im- 
27 



plied a more delicately spun social fibre 
than that of their substantial-looking 
English ciceroni. 

Dr. and Mrs. Bell kindly offered us 
places at their lunch-table, where we par- 
took, with their pleasant party, of a typical 
open-air English meal, largely composed 
of salads, pickles, liquid mayonnaise in 
large-mouthed bottles, jams and other 
highly indigestible condiments, as well as 
an unlimited amount of champagne. 

On our return from Henley, we dined 
with Aleck and Louise, and came home in 
a cold rain. 

The following morning, July tenth, 
Jimmy informed me in a most virtuous 
manner that he wanted to go with George 
Borup and his tutor and see something of 
London. I smiled and said, " Certainly." 
On his return in the evening, "Well," said 
I, Jimmy, have you had an interesting 
time? " Then came the description. A 
tutor more anxious to conscientiously ful- 

28 



fil the duty of instructing, rather than en- 
tertaining, the youthful mind, lacking, my 
son seemed to think, in a sense of hu- 
mour, — as who might not, with two 
strange boys to instruct who were to re- 
port to their fathers what they had seen, — 
had taken them from one museum to an- 
other until my son, at least, was thor- 
oughly tired out. George Borup, to his 
credit, I hear, stands by the tutor, regard- 
ing him doubtless as his father's junior in 
command and entitled to confidence and 
respect. 

I think I observed in my son an in- 
creased regard, if that were possible, for 
my judgement as to what we should do 
next as the programme unfolded from day 
to day. He consoled himself in the even- 
ing by going to the theatre with Elsie 
Nicholas. 

My evening was passed very differ- 
ently. Aleck and I, after dinner, drove 
to Whitechapel. Leaving the brougham 
29 



a safe distance from Huntington Street, 
we proceeded to the "Girls' Club." En- 
tering a narrow doorway, set back from 
the street, we found ourselves in a room, 
some sixty feet or more deep, some twenty 
feet in width, with benches against the 
wall, and a piano in one corner, the whole 
place filled with young girls from the 
ages of five to fifteen or more. Louise, 
in a gingham check suit, or something of 
the sort, was busy, with the assistance of 
some of the older girls, in bringing the oc- 
casion to order. What sensations of curi- 
osity mingled with awe Aleck and I in our 
evening dress brought to the minds of 
most of the little ones, I did my part to 
dispel as quickly as possible by hunting 
up my friends of the railway station, and 
greeting them with as much familiarity as 
their at times unresponsive manner would 
permit. On such occasions too great a suc- 
cess is as bad as comparative failure, and 
Louise, probably having an intuitive feel- 
so 



ing of the sort, soon called them to order, 
and seating herself at the piano, the older 
girls gave us an exhibition in gymnastics, 
keeping time to her spirited music. I was 
much impressed with the vigour and grace 
of the girls' movements, and saw that they 
had been well trained. Their costumes 
were not unlike an American girl's bath- 
ing-dress, the material, I think, black 
alpaca, their waists encircled with light 
blue sashes. After the gymnastics a hymn 
was sung, leaving that touching feeling 
that young voices in evening-song carry to 
our better nature. The girls vote at times 
as to what hymn shall be chosen, and by 
their lively interest in the choice show their 
appreciation of the words. 

Louise soon informed us that they had 
much to do in arranging for summer out- 
ings for various members of the club, and 
that she thought our visit was over. A 
little red-haired roly-poly, about five 
years of age, asked to be kissed by Louise, 

31 



and was promptly told that she could 
only be kissed once a week, and then 
only if she were good. It seems on one 
of their excursions she had been found 
hiding under her clothes an empty soda- 
water bottle which she had picked up, 
and, much to the amusement of all, it 
was taken from her with the explana- 
tion that she must not take things that 
did not belong to her. A bright, black- 
eyed young woman, with a good figure, 
found my hat and presented it with the 
air of speedily departing the guest. 
Aleck and I were soon out in the dismal 
streets of Whitechapel, seeking later in 
the Alhambra a more enlivening prospect. 
I recall vividly almost every detail of 
my visit to the " Girls' Club." I cannot 
find in my memory a single scene of the 
Alhambra entertainment. 



32 



July 11th. 

A fine day, cold and bright. We are 
off for the Tower, picking up Archie 
Brown at the Palace Hotel, where he 
had come to see Elsie Nicholas. Archie's 
time being limited, I arranged that he 
should pay his call on Elsie in a hansom 
cab between the hotel and the entrance of 
the Tower. Time did not permit him to 
go in with us. The superintendent, if 
that is his title, paid us special attention; 
later handing us over to a very substan- 
tial beef -eater, who showed us all we had 
time and patience to see, from the foun- 
dation stones of the time of Julius Cassar 
to the precious gems of King Edward's 
crown neatly burnished up for the coming 
coronation. Americans are deservedly 
popular with officials. We place a low 
estimate on a shilling, a sixpence we de- 
spise, a fourpenny bit we know not, and 

S3 



we draw little difference between the 
Prince Consort's florin and a half-crown. 

We drove on our way back through 
Whitechapel, calling at the Girls' Club. 
It was closed, and the modest exterior was 
all I could show Elsie and Jimmy. 

Lunch at the Berkeley, Madame Tus- 
saud's and the Eton and Harrow match 
passed the afternoon, and gave us no time 
to spare before our early dinner with 
Louise and Aleck at 3 Buckingham Gate, 
where we met Mr. Sherwood, a friend of 
Herbert's. After dinner to a comic opera, 
and so home to bed. 

July 12th. 

The journey from London to the Con- 
tinent has always been much more to 
my liking than the journey from the 
Continent to London. France, Belgium, 
Holland, and Italy are countries that en- 
tertain me without effort, while in Eng- 
land I sometimes think I work hard for 

34 



my pleasures, hence my satisfaction in set- 
ting the steps of my son thitherwards. 
Leaving Charing Cross on the ten-o'clock 
train, we found in the chairman of the 
Dover Dock Board, the only other occu- 
pant of our carriage, a pleasant compan- 
ion. He gave us an interesting account 
of the new harbour work, which is now 
going on. 

The Channel came out smooth as we 
got our first glimpse of it over the chalk 
cliffs, and we were soon pacing the boat's 
deck, where whom should I meet, to 
my great delight, but my friends Mr. 
and Mrs. John W. Simpson and their 
daughter. 

My package of eight hundred Star- 
light cigars cost me 200 francs at the 
custom-house, which surprised me, as the 
same number passed at Cherbourg for less 
than 100 francs. I decided not to discuss 
the matter, fearing that I might lose both 
money and lunch, which, as travellers 



35 



know, is very well done at the Calais sta- 
tion restaurant. 

The ride to Paris has always given me 
pleasurable sensations. The transition 
from a sober English-speaking people, 
albeit they have many virtues, to the lively 
and picturesque qualities of the Gaul, 
where costume, character and manner dif- 
fer so widely from their English neigh- 
bours, all three apparently designed to 
amuse and entertain, excites the mind ; and 
when we add to it the pleasure of speaking 
their beautiful language, life puts on a 
new and delightful phase. One buys the 
"Figaro" to see what is to be played at the 
Francais, what operas are to be given, 
what is doing at the Gymnase, and is the 
same good piece going at the Varietes. 
Some of your fellow-travellers, seeing you 
at home on both sides of the Channel, give 
you a look of interest and consideration, 
and you imagine they are asking them- 
selves if you are not a notability. 
36 



As the train speeds its way to Paris, long 
after you think you have left the Channel, 
glimpses of the sea, a lighthouse and 
dunes surprise you in the neighbour- 
hood of Abbeville, peat-bogs and bleach- 
ing-greens, surrounded by slender pop- 
lars and twinkling birches, appear as you 
near Amiens. As you thunder through 
the station at Creil, glide over the high 
aqueduct beyond, through the quarries, 
and past the lovely forest of Chantilly, 
you soon begin to feel the stimulus of the 
approach to the great pleasure city of the 
world, and as the train clanks over the 
turntables and enters the station you are 
already filled with anticipatory pleasures. 

With little delay, Jimmy and I, with our 
belongings, were rumbling down the Rue 
Lafayette in a small omnibus, soon find- 
ing ourselves in a most comfortable, com- 
modious room, au cinquieme, at the Ritz, 
that perfection of modern hotels and mod- 
ern hotel-keeping. 

37 



We had time before dinner to walk 
through the Garden of the Tuileries out 
into that beautiful expanse, the Place de 
la Concorde. What city in the world 
offers such a scene! The massive Arc in 
the distant perspective, the graceful Mad- 
eleine glowing in the afternoon light, the 
harmonious Palais Bourbon, and over- 
looking it all, the Obelisk of Luxor, a 
monument once the glory of Thebes, now 
the admiration of Paris. To think that 
on this spot stood the guillotine in the 
Reign of Terror! 

My son absorbs the new scenes through 
which he is passing quietly and with an 
intelligent appreciation of their interest. 
I was twenty-five years of age when I 
arrived for the first time in Europe. Paris 
amazed me, and I may say that I have 
never gotten over the effects of its fasci- 
nation. It may be that New York and 
Philadelphia in those days were such in- 
different cities that the contrast with 

38 



Paris is not now what it was then. It 
may be that I was unusually impression- 
able. I look back with delight at my en- 
joyment of European life, as I roamed 
at will from city to city, or from seaside 
to mountain, free from care and restraint. 
Uncle Willie came to dine with us at 
the Ritz, and was surprised at the growth 
of his nephew. After dinner he took us 
in his " Mercedes " for a spin to the Bois, 
followed later by a call on Emilie and her 
husband, where Jimmy again surprised 
his family by his stature. There I met, 
for the first time, Mr. Wright Post, Emi- 
lie's father-in-law, and was much pleased 
with his amiable reception and kindly, 
agreeable conversation. 

Sunday, July 13th. 

We left the Ritz at an early hour to meet 
Sam and his party, Helen and Molly Lee, 
who were living in the Avenue de la 
Grande Armee. Sam has a weakness for 



stopping at places where he will come into 
contact, in an informal way, with nice 
people, I think I might say, of the gen- 
tler sex. He had certainly accomplished 
it in the very agreeable quarters in which 
we found him. 

It was near church time, and an air of 
what English people would call a " Chris- 
tian Sabbath " pervaded the reception 
room we were shown into, the ladies ap- 
pearing in their best walking-suits, put- 
ting on their gloves as they laid their 
prayer-books down. Who has said, " to 
be well-dressed gives us a satisfaction that 
religion has no power to confer "? Sam's 
arrival in a summer suit did not add par- 
ticularly to the Sabbatarian air, as he re- 
ceived us with his bright and genial smile. 
Molly and Helen soon followed. The de- 
lightful reunion with members of the same 
family meeting in a foreign city made us 
a very happy party. 

We three men were soon off for the lie 

40 



de Puteaux, where, after some good games 
of tennis, we were joined by Helen and 
Molly at breakfast. Will Thorn arrived 
later in his auto, taking us in the after- 
noon to see a game of pelote, a wonderful 
exhibition of skill at ball-playing by 
young men from the south of France and 
Spain. The accuracy with which they 
projected the ball from a long, narrow 
basket, which is fastened to the right arm, 
resembling somewhat the wicker curves 
placed over carriage wheels to keep off the 
mud from ladies' dresses, was marvellous. 
A hundred yards or more away, they 
would throw the ball high up on the wall 
facing them, again and again at nearly 
the same spot. Nearly a thousand people 
were watching them, and the Spanisli 
custom of throwing cigars into the bull- 
ring, as a grateful appreciation of a bril- 
liant stroke, prevailed. 

In the evening we had a family party 
at Paillard's, the principal feature of the 

41 



dinner being that the peaches were six 
francs apiece. Fortunately, most of the 
party declined them. Jimmy declared he 
had never tasted a peach equal to the one 
he then and there devoured. An hour at 
a cafe chantant, and the evening was over. 

July 14th. 

France's national holiday. A warm 
summer day. Jimmy and I separated, 
each to his favourite pastime, his tennis, 
mine golf; he with his Uncle Sam, intend- 
ing to take in the review at Longchamps, 
an entertainment that I was willing to 
omit, having served an apprenticeship to 
most of the shows that Longchamps 
offers to the Paris public. 

In the evening we dined our relatives 
Mr. and Mrs. Post and Will Thorn at 
the Ritz. Unfortunately, being a warm 
night, the Hungarian band moved out 
into the garden, and Mr. Post found him- 
42 



self seated almost under one of the violins, 
which he remarked was just his luck. 
However, the dinner passed off with 
spirit, and we separated in excellent hu- 
mour and good feeling, Jimmy and I 
going for a stroll to see the Parisians en- 
tertaining themselves in the streets, all 
traffic being stopped, and the town 
handed over to those on foot. Numerous 
small orchestras or bands of music are 
stationed at corners, and a not unat- 
tractive gathering of men and women 
dance on the asphalt until morning. 

Subscriptions are taken up some time 
before from the shopkeepers, whereby this 
annual frolic is free to all comers, and one 
must confess that Parisians deserve great 
credit for the attractive way in which they 
enjoy themselves. It is, I think, one of 
the marks of their high civilization. One 
has but to compare a pleasure party 
among what are called the lower classes 
in England to a similar entertainment in 

43 



France to realise how different the sources 
of enjoyment of the two nations are. 

July 15th. 

A dull day. Some rain, still we got in 
several sets of tennis at Puteaux, hurrying 
away about five in the afternoon, leaving 
Sam still at the nets, to catch the Orient 
Express. 

The obliging gouvernante of the Ritz, 
as well as the general staff of porters, 
waiters, and bell-boys, did their best to 
meet our needs and expedite our de- 
parture. 

I think there is something decidedly 
" chic " in a gouvernante. The one in 
question is an Alsacienne, good-natured, 
with a pleasant smile and bright, black 
eyes. She has been maid to one or two 
American families, has travelled in Amer- 
ica, and knows well how to supply the 
wants of the varied nationalities that fre- 
quent the Ritz. 

44 



The dining hour on the Orient Express 
is immediately on the departure of the 
train, at 7 p.m. We were seated at a table 
in the dining-car, with a boy of twelve on 
my left, and his tutor on Jim's right, as 
we rolled out into the open, through the 
walls of Paris, past rows of forlorn-look- 
ing white buildings, with here and there a 
little patch of green, over canals, under 
bridges, out into the beautiful landscape 
of cultivated France, where fields of ri- 
pening grain, tinged here and there with 
pale yellow, were swept in graceful waves 
by the evening breeze, while scarlet pop- 
pies and blue corn-flowers peeped from 
the unfenced border, all softly illumi- 
nated by the declining sun. 

Calling my son's attention to a colom- 
bier, as one of the causes of the French 
Revolution, the tutor remarked in a 
kindly, firm, tutorial manner, " Droit de 
seigneurie." This broke the ice, and we 
were soon chatting pleasantly together, 

45 



when the revolving fan fell from the ceil- 
ing, one of the blades striking me, doing 
no harm other than making me for the mo- 
ment a conspicuous person. 

A very nice-looking French gentleman, 
with a trim, angular, distingue-looking 
wife, who might have been a good horse- 
woman, made himself pleasant. They were 
on their way to the Kneipp cure, over which 
he was most enthusiastic, telling me he had 
been carried there, suffering, he feared, 
past recovery, from rheumatism, and was 
now as well as ever. The theory of the 
treatment seems to be stimulation of the 
circulation by douches on particular parts 
of the body, the free use of pure drinking- 
water and careful diet. His party, him- 
self, wife, and little girl, left us at Ulm, 
and the cordial manner in which we parted 
left that pleasing impression on my mind 
that the appearance of myself and son was 
satisfactory, perhaps attractive, to the keen 
appreciation of an intelligent Frenchman. 

46 



Sedelmeyer and his daughters were also 
in the train, en route for Gastein. We 
talked paintings, and were both of us 
most enthusiastic over John Sargent's 
" Ladies Acheson." Sedelmeyer says he 
returned several times to the Royal Acad- 
emy to sit, and enjoy the delightful por- 
trait of those beautiful ladies. 

July 16th. 

We had an hour at Munich, where we 
arrived about ten o'clock in the morning. 
Leaving our hand luggage with a trusty 
trager, we took a cab to where I thought 
we could buy some tennis balls, which sat- 
isfactorily obtained, and forgetting a new 
silk umbrella (which, I think, I left at the 
shop), will, I fear, cause Jimmy to re- 
member Munich as the place where we 
bought the tennis balls and lost the um- 
brella. Perhaps a good glass of beer that 
he had at the station will be another sou- 
venir of this to me most interesting city. 
47 



The journey to Botzen over the Bren- 
ner delights the eye with an unvary- 
ing scene of beauty. Mountain torrents, 
here and there breaking into waterfalls; 
vine-clad hills crowned by ruined castles 
or picturesque monasteries; a winding 
macadam road coming, from time to time, 
in view; meadows where, in almost the- 
atrical costumes, the peasants are tossing 
the hay ; and, towering over all, the massive 
crags of the Dolomites, make a scene never 
to be forgotten by the American traveller 
who knows only the repetition of the cheap 
wooden constructions and ungainly fac- 
tories that repeat themselves so constantly 
in his own country. At Innsbruck, where 
we commenced the climb to the Brenner, 
we sampled the beer at the railway station, 
and had a few words with the porter of 
the Tyrolerhof , who is a devoted friend of 
Helen's, a man of smooth manners, who 
has left me entirely in doubt as to whe- 
ther he has an affection for me and my 

48 



family outside of the liberal tips that I 
have bestowed on him during the last few 
months. 

About six in the evening the train drew 
up at Botzen. How we did enjoy our 
baths and all the other luxuries and com- 
forts of that excellent Hotel Bristol, after 
our twenty-four hours' railroad ride from 
Paris! 

No news from Helen. In the opinion 
of the porter of the Hotel Bristol, she and 
Mrs. Hurlbut are somewhere in the neigh- 
bourhood of Karer See. This information 
comes in a mysterious way. Probably 
their natty little driver has been writing 
his lady love, or somebody may have seen 
them and communicated the fact to the 
porter. He merely gives it as his opinion. 

The Hotel Mendel telephones that she 
is expected there in a day or two. We 
soothed our disappointment at not meet- 
ing her, by an excellent dinner, after which 
we found a billiard-table in a cafe chan- 
49 



tant, and had two pleasures combined. 
The prima donna of the cafe chantant 
sang a song depicting the sad terrors of 
reaching forty years of age. As she was 
already there, and knew we knew it, she 
made it quite comical. 

In the morning we decided to drive to 
Karer See, and take the chance of meeting 
Helen. We acted wisely. Half way up 
the mountain pass, whom should I see 
seated on a box next the driver, coming 
down the mountain at a good pace, but 
Barbara, all over smiles as she caught sight 
of me. Needless to say, there was a grand 
time, as our two landaus drew up, Jimmy 
and Helen greeting each other with shouts 
of joy. 

We three were a gay party as we drove 
off with light luggage, waving good-bye 
to Mrs. Hurlbut and Barbara, who were 
to return to Botzen and so on to Mendel, 
awaiting us there after our visit to Karer 
See. 

50 



From the time my son landed until the 
delightful moment of recognition, Helen 
had been constantly in our thoughts, and 
to meet her was the objective point of our 
journey. She had passed the spring 
months at Meran, desiring to have a good 
rest after the activities of her New York 
life. 

Our home there was in the Villa Impe- 
rial, where we had the pleasure of seeing, 
from time to time, the Archduke and 
Archduchess Rainer (who occupied the 
premier), cousins of the Emperor, an el- 
derly couple much beloved throughout 
Austria. The erect soldierly figure, at- 
tired, as a rule, in undress uniform, a 
kindly expression, a heavy white mous- 
tache, a pleasant smile and a courteous ac- 
knowledgement of the salutations which 
he received on all sides, made it always a 
pleasure to see the Archduke Rainer in his 
comings and goings. His wife, to whom 
he was devoted, impressed me as a good 

51 



soul. A children's fete in her honour 
took place on the grounds of the Villa Im- 
perial, much to the delight of all con- 
cerned. 

Another constant distinguished visitor 
was the Archduke Ludwig Victor, the 
Emperor's brother, who came at one time, 
almost every day, to play tennis on the 
dirt court belonging to the villa. His 
partner was an officer of rank, whose name 
I have forgotten. The Archduke im- 
pressed me as having what I should call 
an historical countenance, a Hapsburg, 
bringing to your mind the stirring events 
of past centuries with which this name is 
associated. He frequently took his mid- 
day meal in a little room adjoining the 
main dining-room. 

Captain Schmidt von Schwendt and 
his wife were also guests at the Villa Im- 
perial; the captain, having accompanied 
Prince Henry to America as his personal 
adjutant, was, I think, renewing his 

52 



strength by a visit to the Tyrol. We be- 
came good friends. 

Prince Henry had acquired a taste for 
golf in China, and on his suggestion links 
were established at Kiel, hence a special 
interest in the game on the part of the 
captain. Having a set of clubs with me, 
the captain and a Russian gentleman, who 
was also of our hotel, and myself, impro- 
vised a course on the Sports Platz, our 
game consisting of a contest to see who 
would go around the race-course in the 
smallest number of strokes, penalising 
any one who drove the ball outside the 
course, one stroke; if over the fence, two 
strokes; not infrequently a lost ball being 
an additional penalty for the latter. It 
was good practice for straight driving and 
approach shots. 

I inquired of the captain if it were 
true that at some point in the western 
country, the roughs, at one o'clock in the 
morning, had hammered against the Pull- 

53 



man car, calling out to Prince Henry to 
come out and show himself; and I was 
much entertained to note how carefully 
he avoided in his reply any criticism of 
the manners of my countrymen, explain- 
ing that it occurred at Springfield, Ken- 
tucky; that their programme had not in- 
cluded this place, which was the reason 
why they were not ready to make their re- 
spects to the inhabitants. 

I was much charmed with Madame von 
Schwendt. The simplicity and sweetness 
of her manner, combined with the delicacy 
and force of her perceptions, have left 
with me a delightful recollection. 

While Helen was recuperating at Me- 
ran and Mendel, I passed some time at 
Vienna. Herr Laszlo had offered to paint 
my portrait. 

Strolling through the spring exhibition, 
at Vienna, I was almost startled as I came 
upon Laszlo's portrait of Count Castel- 
lane. It was the head only, wearing the 

54 



helmet of a cuirassier. The eyes were mar- 
vellous. I had never seen the original, yet 
I felt it must be a wonderful likeness. As 
I looked further, I saw the Emperors of 
Austria and Germany, the Pope and Car- 
dinal Rampolla, all his work. I doubted 
if a simple American citizen could present 
any attractions to him. I called at his 
studio about six in the evening, on my re- 
turn from the golf course, and presented 
myself. Herr Laszlo is a gentleman of 
about thirty-five years of age, of middle 
stature, with dark hair and piercing black 
eyes that tell you that you are face to face 
with a man of superior power. I opened 
the conversation in French, and was an- 
swered by the three words " I speak Eng- 
lish," to which I replied, " I have three 
questions to ask you: Would you be will- 
ing to paint my portrait? when could 
you do it? and what would be the ex- 
pense? " I received satisfactory replies to 
all three of my requests. The work was 

55 



commenced one Monday in May, and af- 
ter five or six sittings a very good portrait 
was produced. We had become good 
friends. He criticised his work, in my 
presence, somewhat in this manner: " If 
I were asked whose portrait that was, not 
knowing you, I would say it was that of 
an Australian farmer, a man with large 
flocks and herds, a gentleman farmer, you 
know." On another occasion, looking at 
the picture, he remarked: "A nice old 
gentleman." I was able to bear these 
compliments without blushing. 

I introduced Herr Laszlo to the game 
of golf. We visited the races together; 
lunched at the Bristol. We became com- 
panionable. 

During my sittings I frequently looked 
at a beautiful portrait of his attractive 
wife. He told me of the courtship, which 
had lasted nine years. They had met at a 
fancy-dress ball, given at the Pinakothek, 
at Munich. It was love at first sight. 

56 



Miss Guinness was of one of the first 
families of Ireland. What could seem 
more hopeless! a Catholic, a young Hun- 
garian artist, his spurs not yet won, seek- 
ing the hand of a Scotch Preshyterian, 
related to a lord, and daughter of a de- 
voted mother. I need say no more. Those 
who have daughters will wonder that even 
nine years accomplished it. Lovers will 
not. 

I think it was just one week from the 
commencement of the portrait, when, pre- 
senting myself as usual, about nine in 
the morning, at the studio, Herr Laszlo 
turned the portrait upside down, an- 
nouncing that he was now about to do 
something which would make me believe 
he was a very impracticable man. " I can 
paint a much better portrait of you than 
this one. I know you now. I did not at 
first." The present portrait, which has 
been much admired both in Paris and New 
York, was the result. The head of the 
57 



original picture can be seen on looking at 
the back of the canvass. 

Later, I had the pleasure of meeting 
Madame Laszlo, at Buda Pesth, where she 
and her husband entertained me at a very 
delightful lunch at the Park Club, which 
is almost immediately opposite their hand- 
some residence. The Park Club, I may 
add, is in many respects superior to any 
club-house I have ever seen in a large city. 
The appointments are perfect, the rooms 
spacious, furnished in excellent taste, and 
the extensive grounds are provided with 
tennis courts and other open-air recrea- 
tions. 

Before setting out on my journey from 
Paris to meet my son, I had the pleasure 
of having Herr and Madame Laszlo dine 
with me at the Ritz. The leader of the 
Hungarian band recognized a compatriot 
and devoted himself and his orchestra to 
our entertainment throughout the evening, 
as is customary, advancing several steps 

58 



in front toward us in order that he might 
concentrate his feeling on my distin- 
guished guests. 

An interesting episode occurred during 
my stay in Vienna. An invitation that I 
had given to a friend to accompany me 
to the Ballet had been cancelled, owing 
to a headache. I had offered the ticket 
to one of the gentlemen who aid in 
managing the hotel. He had asked per- 
mission to present it, if he found he could 
not go. I was naturally somewhat in- 
terested in seeing who my neighbour would 
be. The seat was empty during the first 
piece. On my return, after the entr'acte, 
it was occupied by a lady. After some 
little time, no attention whatsoever having 
been paid to me, I offered a programme, 
which was graciously accepted. In a few 
moments we were in conversation in 
French. I recall a sentence which at once 
fixed in my mind the attractions of my 
neighbour. Looking at the orchestra, 
59 



which was immediately in front of us, our 
seat being on the front row, she remarked, 
" Comme ils jouent tendrement." The 
word brought us into sympathy at once. 
Another sentence, " Ainsi, Monsieur, vous 
voyagez continuellement dans toutes les 
capitales de l'Europe?" I thought of 
Mephistopheles' reply, " Dire necessite, 
Madame." She was much too young and 
pretty for it to be appropriate. When the 
opera was over, I bowed my acknowledge- 
ments, and we separated. Later, I found 
I had been enjoying the society of Ma- 
dame Wolfe, wife of the proprietor of 
the Hotel Bristol, a most accomplished 
linguist, speaking English perfectly. We 
had quite a laugh over our adventure, 
when we met, later on, at the hotel; we 
felt it savoured something of the " Bal 
Masque." 

To return to our journey. Some ex- 
cellent forellen for lunch was the princi- 
pal event, barring of course the scenery, 
60 



before our arrival at Karer See. Here 
we found a meadow, high up in the moun- 
tains, overlooked by the peaks and crags 
of the Rosengarten and Lattimer groups. 
The hotel is a large stone building run 
on Viennese lines. The guests were from 
one third to one half " God's chosen peo- 
ple." The tennis courts were poor affairs, 
and mountain walks, beneath the deep 
shade of the evergreens, leading to charm- 
ing views, with here and there a rude 
seat for the weary, were the chief at- 
tractions of the place. We were put up 
in the Chalet, and after two nights, 
Jimmy having made the ascent of one of 
the peaks and Helen having made the ac- 
quaintance of the lovely little wife of a 
Viennese doctor, we thought our visit was 
over, and made our preparations for de- 
parture on the morning of July nine- 
teenth, our natty little coachman, with a 
pretty white feather in his hat, that he so 
carefully tucked away under the seat 
61 



whenever it rained, cracking his whip in 
fine style as we bade good-bye to Karer 
See, and rolled by the various parties out 
for their morning walks. Our journey 
down was uneventful. A thunder-storm 
kept us nearly an hour at a wayside inn, 
and it was nine in the evening as we 
drew up at Mendel, and were greeted by 
Mrs. Hurlbut, who, standing on the steps, 
had altogether the air of a hospitable 
chatelaine of a large country house. I 
might add that she had more than the air, 
as she had all ready for us a good evening 
meal. 

Sunday, July 20th. 

Mendel is of somewhat recent date. A 
military road, built as only the Continent 
builds, opened it up. 

Herr Schrott, the father of the present 

proprietor, knowing the intentions of the 

government, bought extensive tracts of 

land on and about the summit of the pass, 

62 



selling a portion of it for a hotel, which 
proving a success, he was induced likewise 
to build. 

A panorama of snow mountains, known 
in part as the Ortler group, is in fine relief 
to the westward. A short walk down the 
road exposes to view almost the entire 
range of the Dolomites, with the valley of 
the Etsch at one's feet. 

Botzen is in full view to the northward. 
Villages line the banks of the Etsch south- 
ward, while here and there small lakes 
lie half concealed by the hills that sur- 
round them. 

The wooded surroundings of the hotel 
are traversed by excellent footpaths for 
miles, in one direction leading to an ex- 
tended view, including the famous Ber- 
nina, well known to those who have visited 
the Engadine ; in another to parks, resem- 
bling on a small scale the parks of the 
Rocky Mountains, none the less beautiful 
on account of their size. It required two 
63 



parks for the five holes of golf that the 
Rev. Mr. Chapman and I laid out. 

Herr Schrott, our attentive host, is an 
active young man, about twenty-five years 
of age, excelling in outdoor sports, mus- 
cular, being able to break a stone of some 
size with his fist, ambitious to excel in 
whatever he does. Helen and I had many 
good games of tennis with him and his 
sister, who found time to join us as well 
as to pursue her studies in the culinary 
department. We visited her in the kit- 
chen, where, under her white cap, her 
smiling face reminded one of a young 
prima donna in an opera bouffe. 

I must not omit mention of my friend, 
the head porter, erect and soldierly in 
bearing, attentive to his duties, always 
cheerful and never flustered. He gave 
me a sketch of his life, including, among 
other interesting events, his campaign in 
our army during the Civil War. 

In the afternoon a Tyrolean band en- 

64 



livened the occasion, a large Sunday ga- 
thering, more or less in the costume of 
the country, giving a unique appearance 
to this retired spot. 

July 21st. 

It poured all day. We visited the golf 
course and came home soaked. We held 
a council of travel, and concluded that as 
time was of the essence, Jimmy and I 
should be off for Venice, so on the twenty- 
second, a fine day after the rain, we bade 
good-bye to Helen and Mrs. Hurlbut, 
and in a little over two hours were in 
Botzen. 

Two young men got out of the train 
that we were to take at Botzen, to enjoy 
the air and scene. They were evidently 
fellow-countrymen, with a decided look of 
Boston and Cambridge. On our arrival 
at Ala, I made their acquaintance, calling 
their attention to the large number of 
baskets on the platform of the station, 

65 



filled with laurel leaves to be sent to Ger- 
many, where, besides their use as decora- 
tions, they are an important addition to 
the cuisine, more especially for game. 
These young men asked that they might 
join us in visiting Verona, where we had 
three hours before taking the train for 
Venice. We engaged a cab with a broken- 
down horse, and permitting a seedy-look- 
ing " valet de place " to mount by the 
coachman's side, the six of us rolled along 
the streets of the town until we arrived at 
the Arena. The " valet de place " soon 
proved himself a fifth wheel to the coach, 
but, as travellers know, once engaged it 
was impossible to get rid of him. We 
saw the Arena at sunset, appearing at its 
best. The official guide was much pleased 
to inform us that Baedeker was in error in 
stating that it held only twenty thousand 
people, while it really held sixty thou- 
sand, and Buffalo Bill had given a per- 
formance to at least forty thousand. 
66 



From the Arena to Juliet's tomb and then 
to the principal hotel of the town, where 
with little delay an excellent dinner was 
set before us. 

The journey to Venice was more or less 
in the dark, and it was only as, at eleven 
o'clock at night, we walked out of the 
gloomy railway station on to the flight 
of steps that overlook the Grand Canal, 
and saw the gondolas flying in every di- 
rection, that my son manifested his de- 
light and surprise by the expression: 
" This is great! " We were soon gliding 
through the narrow canals, the cry of the 
gondolier and the plash of the oar alone 
breaking the midnight silence, passing 
palaces gloomy as prisons, decaying walls 
covered with masses of drooping verdure, 
and under low arched bridges, we sitting 
in silence, awed by the solemnity around 
us, until, rounding the palace of the two 
Foscari, we found ourselves in the Grand 
Canal. As we approached the hotel, a rich, 
67 



musical voice resounded from the Giu- 
decca, the last of the Fete Venitienne, that 
nightly wakes the echoes through the long 
Italian summer. 

The manager of the Grand, where I 
am a favoured guest, was awaiting us, and 
we were shown to palatial apartments 
overlooking the Grand Canal. We could 
almost have played a game of tennis in 
our sitting-room, and several squash 
courts could have been put up in the bed- 
room, notwithstanding all of which the 
beds were hard and the pillows small. 

My acquaintance with the manager of 
the Grand arose in this way. About the 
month of June, for several years, I had 
been in the habit of making a European 
trip of two or three months, leaving my 
children in our little home at Tuxedo un- 
der the care of their faithful " Fraulein." 
Helen and Jimmy tell me now that when 
I left them that night they sobbed them- 
selves to sleep in each other's arms. This 
68 



is the first I have heard of their distress 
on account of my departure. It is fortu- 
nate for me that I have been so long igno- 
rant of their affectionate sorrow. 

On these trips I would wander alone 
from place to place, revisiting scenes sur- 
rounded in the past with delightful asso- 
ciations, and gratifying my curiosity by 
the sight of some of the interesting re- 
sorts with which I was familiar by 
name. 

Venice in the summer has always been 
one of my greatest delights. I love in the 
warm sunlight of the afternoon to float 
by the Public Gardens, their white stone 
balustrade and beautifully proportioned 
entrance thrown into relief by the back- 
ground of rich foliage. One may mount 
the flight of steps and in the deep shade 
pace beneath the lofty plane-trees that 
have given to many a child in Venice the 
first knowledge of what the woods might 
be. As we glide on, we pass the rose- 
69 



tinted Doge's Palace, the Campanile of 
San Giorgio, always in sight as the de- 
clining sun warms it with a soft reddish 
glow, the dainty white columns of the 
church, at its base, adding to its charm. 
Across the water shines the gilded figure 
of Fortuna on the Custom House; the 
massive dome of Santa Maria della Sa- 
lute, as the sun descends, delights the eye 
with its sheen and shadows; at night, re- 
clining on the soft cushions of the gondola, 
as we approach the Piazetta, a subdued 
murmur comes over the water — the same 
murmuring whisper that has been wafted 
over the lagoon for centuries. Among 
the busy haunts of men, where will we find 
a scene of beauty created by man that has 
so successfully escaped the hand of time! 
I love to think that all around us is as 
it was when Othello made love to Desde- 
mona, and Shylock bartered with Anto- 
nio. Let us hope it may remain so, and 
that the warning of the Campanile may be 
70 



a lesson that will last for a thousand years 
and more. 

Talking with the porter of the Grand 
Hotel, I learned of an interesting trip 
northward to Cortina, and was told it 
could all be arranged for me; taking the 
morning train for Treviso, passing an 
hour or two there, and then on to Belluno, 
by rail, where I arrived about four in the 
afternoon. A landau was awaiting me, 
and with little delay my trunk was fas- 
tened on to it, a nice-looking well-dressed 
man, of whom more anon, aiding in the 
operation. As we drove over a good road 
lined with rich foliage, walnut-trees for 
the most part, from village to village, I 
was amused by my driver, who, vigor- 
ously snapping his whip, would call to 
the window many a bright young face 
with which he exchanged a smile. Did 
each pair of black eyes think it was the 
only one thus favoured? 

Arriving at dusk at Ospitale, I was 
71 



somewhat surprised by being told by my 
driver that he could take me no farther. 
I was about to remonstrate, when he 
pointed out a young woman, dressed in 
the picturesque costume of the country, 
telling me that she had come to meet me, 
that she was the daughter of the proprie- 
tor of the inn to which I was going, and 
would look after me. Foreseeing a long 
drive in her company, and appreciating 
the importance of some knowledge of her 
state, I sought information from my 
driver, who, as he was about to leave, in- 
formed me that she was engaged to be 
married to the man who had helped to 
fasten on my trunk. I felt at once that I 
was not without a means of interesting her. 
After a poor meal at Ospitale, I told 
her I was ready to go. A rather shabby 
one-horse vehicle appeared on the scene, 
into which I got, the young woman pre- 
paring to mount the narrow seat next the 
driver. She hesitated before accepting 
72 



my invitation to sit with me, and, after 
getting in, drew very much to one side, 
evidently looking upon me as a person to 
be treated with great respect. Almost 
her first remark was to ask me my opinion 
of the meal we had just finished. I ap- 
preciated at once the fact that she was 
a rival in innkeeping, and we commenced 
our friendship by roundly abusing what 
had been offered us, more especially the 
chicken, not sparing the butter. 

It was a beautiful moonlight night, con- 
ducive to companionship, and as we both 
studied to please, the time passed pleas- 
antly. As we passed, from time to time, 
the small chapels that line the road, she 
crossed herself. On one occasion I took 
off my hat, which caused her to turn 
sharply upon me, and ask if I were a 
Protestant. Replying that I was, she 
astonished me by the question, " Do Prot- 
estants believe in God ? " Remembering 
that on one occasion the Bishop of Oxford, 



in a speech in the House of Lords, had 
gone so far as to say that there was really 
no difference in the teachings of the Eng- 
lish Church and the Catholic Church, I 
took his words as my text, and endea- 
voured to explain how little difference 
there was between the religious views of 
the Protestants and the Catholics. I was 
getting on very well, I thought, until, her 
eyes brilliant with a trace of anger at my 
daring to try to make her believe that 
Protestants are as good as Catholics, she 
uttered in a shrill, clear-cut voice these 
three words, "E la Madonna?" I can hear 
her now in my mind, as one recalls the 
voice of a favourite opera-singer. What 
could I say? She revealed so clearly to 
me the power of the devotion to the Vir- 
gin, the strength of the Church in having 
found a sure road to the human heart 
through the love of a mother, that unsel- 
fish love that in adversity grows stronger, 
when the love of friends grows weaker, 
74, 



the image of a mother and a child turn- 
ing away the thought of sin and answer- 
ing the feeling of love. Her question was 
a sermon in three words. I changed the 
conversation (there was nothing else to 
do), saying to her, " When are you going 
to be married?" She started back in 
painful surprise, saying, " How did you 
know that I was engaged? " I answered, 
with a wave of the hand, " Why, the whole 
valley knows it." (It was, perhaps, 
hardly fair in me to make so broad a state- 
ment.) It altered her whole manner to- 
ward me. We sat in silence for a few 
moments, then she confided the whole 
story to me — how the man had nothing, 
and no employment, what a good man he 
was, and how much she loved him. I sym- 
pathised with her, and she treated me as 
a friend in whom she could repose con- 
fidence. 

As we neared Perarolo, a bright young 
girl of about sixteen years of age came 
75 



running toward us, crying out, " Cata- 
rina." It was her younger sister, who had 
been waiting impatiently for her arri- 
val. She ran by the side of our vehicle, 
conversing with her sister, until we ar- 
rived at their home, a little house pictur- 
esquely situated on the side of a hill. I 
suppose Catarina had said some good 
words for me, as I was treated most com- 
panionably from the start. They offered 
to prepare me a supper, which I declined. 
The fireplace was in the centre of the 
kitchen, a square of some four feet, bor- 
dered with stone, the ashes heaped up in 
a mound, and the smoke going out of an 
opening at the top of the room. We sat 
down at a table, and they brought out 
a pasteboard box containing their treas- 
ures, mostly cards of English people who 
had stopped with them and had left a few 
words written on their cards to express 
their pleasure at the manner in which 
they had been entertained. I found Dean 
76 



Stanley's card, and a letter written by 
Gladstone's secretary. I think it was 
signed, " Montague." They had already 
told me that Gladstone had been one of 
their guests for several days. The letter 
read about as follows: "Mr. Gladstone 

desires me to say in reply to yours of 

that he is quite unable to be of any assis- 
tance to you." They would not tell me 
at first what their demand on him had 
been, but I finally got out of them that 
they had an impression that he was a 
man of immense wealth, which was their 
idea of Prime Minister. They had writ- 
ten to ask if he would lend them the 
money with which to build a hotel. I 
think they were a little ashamed of what 
they had done. I could hardly keep from 
laughing. 

Catarina took me to my bedroom, which 
was clean and had an air of comfort. 
One may be quite assured their distin- 
guished guests would not have remained 
77 



with them if such had not been the 
case. 

As we stood by the bureau, looking at 
some trifling pieces of jewelry I had 
bought in Venice, her name was called in 
a reproachful tone of voice from the door 
by her younger sister, who, I think, had 
very decided views on the propriety of 
Catarina's enjoying the society of any 
other man than the one to whom she was 
engaged. Catarina complimented me by 
paying no attention to her sister. The call 
was so plaintively reproachful that my 
feelings were divided. My judgement in- 
clined toward the younger sister. I en- 
couraged Catarina to choose the little 
present she had in hand, over which she 
was debating, and to bid me good night. 
The younger sister was a better matron 
than Dame Schwerline. 

I slept well in a comfortable bed, awak- 
ening about eight, just in time to see 
the younger sister coming into my room 
78 



on tiptoe, bringing me a pitcher of hot 
water. 

A mountain torrent, the Piave, a saw- 
mill in the distance, a picturesque little 
village, and the green slopes of the moun- 
tain sides were the features of Perarolo. 

I made a bargain with the father, a fine- 
looking old man, to drive me to Cortina, 
and shortly after lunch we set out on our 
journey. He informed me that Catarina 
had begged him to let her go along, and 
that he had sternly refused, considering 
it a breach of propriety, which I distinctly 
approved. I fell asleep before long, and 
when I awoke we had passed Pieve di 
Cadore, the birthplace of Titian, where 
a small statue has been erected to him. 
The old man seemed to feel the responsi- 
bility of my having missed the one sight 
of the neighbourhood, telling me that, 
after all, it did not amount to much, and 
that it was not much higher than the 
length of my umbrella. 
79 



We passed the Austrian frontier with- 
out trouble, and arrived at Cortina about 
four o'clock, — a highly esteemed resort 
which was not quite up to my expecta- 
tions. I had not been there long before 
whom should I see but Catarina, driving 
into the village, sitting on the back seat 
of a landau, in company with a well- 
dressed man. She had a worried look on 
her face. I intended to go on to Toblach 
to pass the night there, and when I found 
that her companion was the manager of 
the Grand Hotel at Venice, who was tak- 
ing a tour for his health, I invited him 
to drive with me, an invitation which lie 
seemed please to accept. 

The drive from Cortina to Toblach is 
charming. The pink-coloured Dolomites 
are in view for much of the time, and de- 
light and astonish by their massive gran- 
deur and exquisite colours. 

My new companion and I had much 
conversation over Catarina and her fu- 
80 



ture, reasoning out the question of whe- 
ther it was wise in her to marry, she hav- 
ing appealed to both of us in turn for 
advice. There was something to me pe- 
culiarly agreeable to find myself drawn 
into a confidential relation regarding the 
future of a young girl in this, to me, new 
and interesting part of Italy. 

Catarina, I hear, is happily married. I 
look forward some day to revisiting Pera- 
rolo, and hope that I shall find her as at- 
tractive as when we parted. I am some- 
what fearful, however, that the care of a 
family and the trials of inn-keeping may 
have left their marks. 

It seems Catarina's brother was em- 
ployed at the Grand Hotel in Venice, 
which explains the selection for me of her 
father's inn by the porter. 

My drive from Cortina to Toblach with 
the manager also explains why my son 
and I were given the best rooms in the 
Grand. 

81 



It was quite early in the morning when 
I hied out to the "Piazza" to see the ruins 
of the "Campanile"; the first effect was 
somewhat similar to the impression pro- 
duced after a big fire on Broadway : a pile 
of bricks surrounded by a board fence, 
and, in the distance, the entrance of the 
Doge's Palace, looking as if it had been 
stained by smoke. St. Mark's stood out 
well, no longer dwarfed by the huge Cam- 
panile. 

We passed the morning first in taking 
kodak pictures of the ruins in the Piazza, 
then a short visit to St. Mark's, which we 
found crowded with the devout, many 
kneeling on the undulating mosaic pave- 
ment, and finally an hour or two in the 
Doge's Palace. We were amused by a 
young lady, seated in the council-chamber, 
with a Baedeker in one hand and Hare's 
"Walks in Venice" in the other, and her 
eyes wandering on the walls and ceiling, 
and from book to book. Fortunately, she 
82 



did not see our expressions of amusement. 
We did the whole thing very thoroughly, 
prison and all. 

My desire has been throughout our 
journey to save my son from the fatigue 
of sight-seeing, and make his visit one of 
pleasure unalloyed by the feeling that the 
sights must be seen even if they cannot be 
enjoyed, reminding him from time to time 
that I was only introducing him to Dame 
Europa, and that many opportunities 
would almost certainly arise when he could 
more thoroughly investigate the inexhaus- 
tible stores of art, science, and history that 
she holds in her hands. The afternoon in- 
cluded a bath in the Lido, and the even- 
ing was passed on that most delightful of 
all waters, the Grand Canal on a fine sum- 
mer's night. As I sat alone at midnight 
on the little balcony of the hotel, close to 
the entrance, a gondola drew up with 
three men in it, one an elderly gentleman 
who seemed, as he walked into the hotel, 



somewhat dazed and lost in his surround- 
ings, as his companions called to him, 
' You are going the wrong way, Mr. 
Smith." His general make-up interested 
me, and I awaited an opportunity to make 
his acquaintance. 

July 24th. 

Continued fine weather. We visited the 
" Rialto," passing our hands over the 
glossy surface of the stone balustrade, 
wondering how it had taken on such a pol- 
ish. Having left the hotel without a hand- 
kerchief, I purchased one in a shop on the 
bridge, from a man who might have been 
a descendant of Jessica. In the Fruit 
Market we searched for ripe peaches ; they 
were all hard, at least on one side. One 
must go to Paris to enjoy the peach in per- 
fection, that tender, luscious fruit with 
such a delightful, penetrating fragrance. 

In the Fish Market we saw the huge, 
84 



coarse tunny fish; from there to the 
" Belli Arti," lolling at our ease in that 
most comfortable of all conveyances, the 
gondola. 

What more distracting to the inquiring 
mind of youth than a picture-gallery! I 
suggested to my son that he should carry 
away the impression of one picture only, 
choosing for him Titian's " Presentation 
in the Temple." I pointed out the rich 
colouring and how the picture had been 
made to suit its location, permitting a door 
of the Academy to open, to the sacrifice of 
its lower line ; and how skilfully the artist 
had centred the interest of the picture in 
the child-like figure, her little hand care- 
fully gathering up her blue dress, a flood 
of light around her as she mounts the steps 
of the temple, the eyes of the richly at- 
tired company watching her as she is about 
to be received by the venerable high priest 
who with outspread arms awaits her. 
Theophile Gautier is authority for the 
85 



statement, that tradition says Titian 
painted this picture at the age of fourteen. 

We visited the interiors of Santa Maria 
della Salute and San Giorgio, and enjoyed 
their harmonious proportions and the 
elaborate wood-carvings of their choirs. 
I was interested in watching a priest of 
forty years of age or thereabouts showing 
the carvings to a handsome young Veni- 
tienne, observing that his sacred mission 
had not eliminated entirely that tender re- 
gard for the sympathy of the opposite sex 
that all good men should have. 

Later in the day we had our usual de- 
lightful bath at the Lido, thus filling up 
the time very fully until the hour of 
dining. 

After dinner I observed considerable 
movement in the party of guests who had 
arrived the same evening with Mr. Smith. 
A gentleman, who was evidently the 
leading mind, was making arrangements 
with one of the music-boats. He was in 
86 



charge of the party, which was one of 
" De Potter's Tours," composed of nice- 
looking people, ladies predominating. I 
noted particularly the cry of one young 
lady, " We do not want to be tied," 
which meant that she did not care to 
have the gondola they were in tied to 
the music-boat. " There are plenty of 
others who do, if you do not," was the an- 
swer. Taking our gondola, we followed 
the little fleet up the Grand Canal, the 
number of gondolas increasing rapidly. 
Enjoying the delightful music, we found 
ourselves finally underneath the Rialto, 
and as one of the steamers passed us at a 
very low rate of speed, the gondoliers in- 
dulged in loud cries of Venetian anger at 
the disturbance; all of which very much 
interested Jimmy, and, I think, he ex- 
claimed for the second time, " This is 
great! " From the Rialto we returned by 
the narrow canals, coming out in front of 
the Salute, which was illuminated by Ben- 
87 



gal lights. I am not quite sure that their 
addition was an improvement to the scene. 
However, I will say that De Potter's 
agent contrived for us a most delightful 
evening. 

The following day we determined on a 
game of tennis at the Lido, where is a dirt 
court. The sun was so bright and hot that 
we were soon satisfied, and took to the sea, 
enjoying a delightful bath. 

That evening I found Mr. Smith 
seated with his friends, and took the lib- 
erty of speaking to him. He received my 
advances in an agreeable manner, and I 
learned his story. He was one of De Pot- 
ter's tourists. He informed us that he 
was from Terre Haute, pronouncing it 
"Terry Hut," and that the entire expense 
of the De Potter tour from New York 
to Antwerp, as far north as Amsterdam, 
as far east as Vienna, and as far south 
as Venice, and so back to Antwerp, via 
Paris, was only three hundred dollars, the 

88 



number of days occupied being sixty, 
which would give five dollars a day. On 
my suggesting that he had left his tour 
of Europe rather late in life — he was 
seventy-five — he told us how it all came 
about. "My daughter wanted me to 
come. I told her if she could get her uncle, 
who lived down in Vincennes, to go, then 
I 'd go. You see, I had no idea he would 
go, and when he surprised me by saying 
he would, of course I had to come along." 
We talked about railroads, he remarking 
that the President of the Chicago & East- 
ern Illinois was a pretty cute sort of a man, 
and that he had got the best railroad on 
which to go to Chicago. He wished to 
know if I knew one of their number, Mr. 
B., of Brooklyn. I did not, but said the 
name sounded to me as if he were a Wall 
Street man. "That is just what I think," 
he said, with an energy implying the solu- 
tion of a problem more or less frequently 
discussed, adding in a lower tone, "He 
89 



seems to have plenty of money," to which 
I replied that Wall Street men, whether 
they were rich or not, were usually able 
freely to gratify all their personal wants. 
The impression was left on my mind that 
the members of the tour were as much in- 
terested in the historical research of each 
other's past as they were in that of the 
varied objects of interest so constantly suc- 
ceeding each other in their rapid journey. 
He was anxious to know all about me, 
which, perhaps, was only fair, after he had 
told me so much about himself. I intro- 
duced him to my son, and his first re- 
mark was, " Did you ever live on Water 
Street before?" — a remark not calculated 
to increase the poetic impression that 
Venice undoubtedly carries with it in the 
evening. 

We made a very pleasant call on Signor 

Dino Barozzi. This gentleman belongs to 

one of the good old families of Venice. 

His father lately occupied one of the high- 

90 



est official positions in the gift of the city, 
requiring him, among other duties, to ap- 
pear in uniform at the railway station 
from time to time to receive important 
personages coming to visit Venice, being 
known as the " Cicerone of Kings." He 
is now, I believe, retired to the more modest 
position of presiding officer of one of the 
museums. The son whom we visited is a 
fine-looking man about forty years of age, 
with an easy, agreeable address. It is de- 
lightful to hear him speak the beautiful 
language of his country. One wishes it 
were possible to imitate him. I recall 
with great pleasure a visit Sam and I 
made some three years ago to his country 
place situated on the road to Padua. We 
met him, on a fine Sunday morning in 
May, at the steamboat landing, a little be- 
fore nine o'clock, where we found him 
with his three little daughters and their 
governess, his wife with, I think, the same 
number of children having gone by the 
91 



eight o'clock boat. I was much interested 
throughout the day to see how ingeniously 
she had contrived to combine her domestic 
duties and the grace of a most agreeable 
hostess. An amusing incident occurred at 
the midday meal. A most attractive -look- 
ing dish of asparagus was passed round. 
Madame Barozzi declined it with an air 
of indifference ; the governess in a decided 
manner, the children one after another also 
shaking their heads as the plate was of- 
fered them, until it arrived to the young- 
est, who, making a motion with the evident 
intention of helping herself, created quite 
a stir around her, which at once checked 
her. It was so evident that the mother 
had instructed them not to touch the 
dish, owing to the limited number of 
spears which their garden had been able 
to supply, that a smile went round the 
table at the confusion of the little child; 
the bitterness of thoughtless disobedience, 
the mortification caused by the looks and 
92 



smiles of her sisters, coloured her sweet 
little face crimson. The blood of her 
ancestors came to her rescue, her dignity 
was preserved; and a general recognition 
of the situation, with which no one of 
us, except, perhaps, the governess, could 
be entirely satisfied, found its solution 
in laughter. I do not think I have ever 
tasted such luscious asparagus, nor have 
I ever partaken of anything where I felt 
so cheap. Even the resurrection of the 
feudal law placing the wife as first vassal 
would hardly have reconciled our position, 
and when it came to the American view 
of the treatment of women and children, 
nothing but the amusement that the scene 
created saved the situation. The children 
were consoled for the loss of the asparagus 
by a liberal supply of wood-strawberries 
and sponge-cake. 

Signor Barozzi gave us an interesting 
account of the details of what had been 
done to the Campanile, and which, in his 
93 



opinion, had caused its fall. It seems a 
new architect had lately been appointed to 
care for this noble monument. He had 
conceived the idea of putting in a horizon- 
tal water conduit to save the " Loggia " 
from being further stained. The masons, 
having chipped out the bricks, were sur- 
prised by the falling within of great 
masses of rubbish, and immediately the 
tower began to settle over the opening 
they had made. A general consternation 
then took possession of all concerned, and, 
as we know, in a few days the Campanile 
fell to the ground. Our conversation was 
in French, and in describing the event, 
Signor Barozzi remarked that the Cam- 
panile had fallen like a " gentleman " 
(using the English word), having care- 
fully avoided causing any damage to St. 
Mark's. I thought it quite complimen- 
tary to the English language that he 
should have chosen this word. There is 
certainly no synonym in French which 
94> 



expresses all that the word " gentleman " 
carries with it. 

After three delightful days in Venice, 
and three delightful evenings, the warm 
sunlight in the latter part of the afternoon 
giving that soft colour to the various 
buildings of historic interest and exqui- 
site architectural proportions that lovers 
of Venice know so well, we took the morn- 
ing train on July twenty-sixth and were 
in Milan in time for lunch at the railway- 
station restaurant. At a table near us sat 
a shrewd-looking elderly nun, with a 
square masculine face, accompanied by a 
sister, who, I imagine, looked up to her 
with awe, if not with fear. I could not 
help thinking, as I saw her reading what 
I supposed was a letter, that she and such 
as she are a great factor in the world that 
will not be altogether downed by the most 
powerful of governments. 

A visit to Leonardo's " Last Supper " 
and an interesting walk through the ca- 
95 



thedral with a very intelligent and agreea- 
ble official guide, consumed most of the 
afternoon. 

We were bound for Pallanza, where 
we intended to pass the night, our train 
leaving about five o'clock. To my sur- 
prise, it was something of an excursion 
train, with more or less of a struggle tak- 
ing place to obtain even a foothold, and 
with our cumbrous hand baggage we were 
only able to get standing-room. My son 
and I have had several instances where 
the use of short sentences or words has 
furnished us with an enduring source of 
enjoyment. At the Buffalo Exposition, 
on Ohio Day, we were present in that ill- 
fated building where, from the very plat- 
form on which our much beloved Presi- 
dent was shot, Mark Hanna delivered 
the address of the day. As we rose to sep- 
arate, we were entertained by hearing 
the Ohio men, many in shirt sleeves, as the 
day was exceedingly warm, congratulat- 
96 



ing each other with the expression " Mark 
did well!" 

Their own satisfaction in alluding to 
him by his first name was evident, and we 
have on semi-appropriate occasions often 
repeated to each other, " Mark did well! " 
The afternoon that I am about to de- 
scribe added another expression — " Par- 
tenza " — to our repertoire. Half way to 
Pallanza we were compelled to change car- 
riages, and not being aware of it until 
most of the passengers had stowed them- 
selves away, we found ourselves on the 
platform with little prospect of a seat, or 
even standing-room. The porter who car- 
ried our baggage assured us that more 
carriages would be put on, as we were not 
alone in our dilemma. A seedy-looking 
individual in a red cap, a sous-chef, soon 
was seen peering in the carriage win- 
dows in order to see if every place were 
taken. We declined to separate, feeling 
sure that the extra carriages were to be 
97 



put on. The chef de la gare then came on 
the scene, an equally seedy-looking per- 
sonage of more mature years. I made 
the blunder of asking him if he spoke 
French, which disposed him still less fa- 
vourably toward us. He pointed out sin- 
gle seats in different railway carriages, 
which would have separated us, and at 
the same time would have given us little 
or no space, as far as we could see, to 
stow away our belongings. He did not 
wait long after we declined his invitation 
to mount. Grasping the open carriage 
door in a resolute manner, a sardonic smile 
on his face (he had evidently often played 
the trick), he gave it a bang, screaming 
at the top of his voice, " Partenza! " The 
effect was electrical. We piled in, bag 
and baggage, paying no attention to the 
protests of the occupants, who received 
us more than coldly. I tried to thaw 
out the gentleman next to me by ask- 
ing him to point out on the map in 
98 



Baedeker just where we were to leave the 
train for the boat. One by one the pas- 
sengers left us until our arrival at Luino, 
on Lake Maggiore, where we made a close 
connection with the steamboat. Looking; 
over the rail of the steamer, we could see 
the bottom of the lake through the clear, 
deep, blue water, and as the paddles 
turned, white foam mingled with tur- 
quoise colours followed in our wake. 
There is a sense of repose, after the over- 
crowded train, that is delightful. In the 
distance the shore is fringed with the 
white hotels of Intra, Baveno, and Stresa, 
while on the mountain side are villages, 
clustering around the church and its 
tower, isolated peasants' houses, and now 
and then a monastic building, all glowing 
in the declining sunlight. 

I never visit the Italian lakes without 

thinking of our drop curtains in the days 

of my youth at the Philadelphia Academy 

of Music and the Walnut Street Theatre : 

99 



until I saw Lake Como I thought they 
were purely fancy sketches. 

On our arrival at the empty hotel at 
Pallanza we lost no time in making ar- 
rangements for a bath in the lake. I was 
familiar with the details, having gone 
through the same experience some years 
before: a little bathhouse, with steps that 
lead down to the water, clear as crystal, 
with a somewhat slimy bottom, and, what 
is still worse, when you get out into the 
lake, a number of slimy rocks. On com- 
ing out, my son found his foot bleeding. 
I hurried up to the hotel, and brought 
down some court-plaster, and did my best 
to close the cut. Talking the matter over 
at the dinner-table, we decided to send for 
a doctor, both of us knowing what a seri- 
ous thing for mountain-climbing, tennis, 
and general sight-seeing this little cut 
might become. A gray-haired little man, 
dressed in black, and carrying a cane, 
soon came upon the scene, and relieved 
100 



our minds by telling us that in two or 
three days it would be well. He seemed 
to have all the latest appliances in the way 
of antiseptic cotton, etc., and as he ban- 
daged the wound we had much entertain- 
ing conversation regarding the past and 
future of Italy. He had been one of the 
Carbonari; had fought under Garibaldi, 
and was full of fervour for his country. 
When I asked him his fee, he said, "What 
you please." I think he passed out of the 
hotel well pleased with the gold he had re- 
ceived from us, which was as well spent as 
any money we parted with during our 
travels. 

Sunday, July 27th. 

Seated in a comfortable landau, with a 
good pair of horses, we are off for Grav- 
ellona, a very pleasant two hours' drive. 
From there we took the train for Domo 
d'Ossola, having telegraphed from the 
hotel at Pallanza to have a carriage meet 

101 



us. We found a pretty seedy pair of 
horses, and saw that we must reconcile 
ourselves to cross the Simplon Pass in 
what golfers would call " Class B." The 
tunnel work is being actively prosecuted, 
and for the first four or five hours 
we might have been on the line of 
construction of a new railroad in the 
Rocky Mountains, with the teams mov- 
ing to and fro, and the wooden shanties 
newly erected for the workingmen, who 
were, of course, very much of the same 
order as we employ at home, it could 
hardly be said to be seeing Switzerland at 
its best. We finally left the tunnel and 
came into wild mountain passes as even- 
ing came on, lonely, and at times sublime ; 
we dined at the hotel in the village of 
Simplon, an old-fashioned hostelry where 
I had some conversation with two English 
maiden ladies in the dining-room. They 
were of a certain age," handsomely at- 
tired in frocks of blue silk, and were 

102 



evidently much pleased to find them- 
selves in such a remote part of Switzer- 
land. Seeking to do my part in fairly 
dividing the conversation among the 
three of us, looking from one to the other, 
I realised their tender regard for each 
other. As is usual in such cases, one 
of them seemed to be the leading mind, 
without, however, diminishing the attrac- 
tions of her friend. I pleased myself with 
the thought that our conversation was to 
them the episode of the evening. 

They might have been the " two ladies 
of Llangollen," full of kindness and at 
peace with all the world. 

It was growing dark as we pushed on 
to the summit, some two hours off, pass- 
ing the gloomy hospice where I lunched 
badly on a bicycle tour some years ago. 
Having taken on another horse at the vil- 
lage of Simplon, we made great time down 
the mountain side, through the wide tun- 
nels built to avoid avalanches, around 

103 



sharp curves, every now and then a flash 
of lightning illuminating momentarily the 
wild scene around us. 

To cross the Simplon had been a desire 
of mine for many years. It was doubly 
associated in my mind with Napoleon : In 
my childhood days I possessed a plaster 
of Paris plaque of Napoleon on horse- 
back, a high wind blowing his cloak into 
graceful folds, his horse rearing, and the 
" Little Corporal," in his three-cornered 
cocked hat, his face turned toward you, 
seated as calmly as in a rocking-chair. It 
was one of my treasures. I think I 
tried to galvanise it with copper. It was 
called " Napoleon Crossing the Alps." 
It gave me a great desire to cross the Sim- 
plon, not, however, in the same manner. 

Noting in my Baedeker that Berisal, 
three hours from Brieg, was starred, I 
determined to pass the night there, having 
engaged a landau for the journey. It 
was not far from the dinner hour when 

104 



I arrived, and I soon found myself seated 
at the table d'hote, an English clergyman 
on my right, a flowing conversationalist, 
and a spinster of the same nationality 
on my left, a liberal supply of their coun- 
trywomen of various ages scattered along 
the table, with here and there a man. The 
scene is not difficult to imagine : the women 
for the most part plainly dressed, angu- 
lar in figure, with countenances expressive 
of pleasurable contentment, revealing con- 
spicuous dental endowments as they smiled 
at trifles — types well known to the Con- 
tinental tourist. 

A sweet young girl, of about seventeen, 
standing behind us, seemed anxious to be 
of service as she passed from one to the 
other, asking if we had all we wanted. 
Her graceful ways were in strong con- 
trast to those of the English guests, and as 
she approached me I enjoyed the feeling 
that one of my own kind was about to smile 
on me. " Can I do anything for you? " 

105 



she said. ' Will you order me a bottle 
of wine? " I answered. " What wine 
would you like? " " Oh, any kind that 
you please." I was thinking, for the mo- 
ment, more of her than of the wine. 
" I cannot do that. You must make your 
own choice," she said gaily, as she turned 
and directed a waitress to hand me a wine- 
card. 

After dinner I walked out to enjoy the 
view in its solemn beauty between sunset 
and dark. 

I found myself beside a delicate and re- 
fined young woman, attired for travel; 
the sympathetic sweetness of her counte- 
nance encouraged me to speak. She was 
awaiting the diligence, being on her way 
to Zermatt to attend the funeral of Mon- 
sieur Siler. We were at once in earnest 
conversation; she told me how much Siler 
had done for that part of the world, in- 
deed for all southern Switzerland, build- 
ing the railroad to Zermatt, devoting his 
106 



life to the development of the country, 
and how poorly the peasants had repaid 
him, doing all in their power to thwart 
his good works, and annoying him in 
petty ways. " They could not live with- 
out us," she said, " and yet they treat us 
as if we were their enemies." 

Her voice was low and musical, and the 
slight accent (we spoke in English) was 
most agreeable to hear. I think it could 
not have been much more than ten min- 
utes that we talked together, when the 
diligence arrived. As I watched her de- 
parture, receiving a gracious bow from 
her as she took her seat, which I returned 
with the hope that mine might show how 
highly I appreciated having made her ac- 
quaintance, I knew not that we were mak- 
ing our adieux forever in this world. 
Once again, two years later, I saw her in 
the distance, as she sat sunning herself, 
in a high hooded wicker chair, in the pri- 
vate garden; when she saw I was notic- 
107 



ing her, she turned her chair, and hid her- 
self from me. She knew she could not 
live much longer, her thoughts were 
turned heavenward, she did not wish 
them disturbed by a worldling. During 
our lives we had been but a quarter of an 
hour in each other's society. I have never 
forgotten her. She was Aline's elder 
sister. 

Returning through the hallway, I saw 
Aline writing at a table in the dining- 
room, a very old man sitting beside her, 
his hands clasping a small jug filled with 
hot water, in order that he might warm 
them. Something told me that in join- 
ing them I would not be a discordant note. 
I was pleased to find myself at once in 
harmony. We teased Aline when she 
would make a little blot, whispering to 
each other, " How neatly she writes! " or 
seeing her grasp the penholder with en- 
ergy, pressing her delicate forefinger out 
of shape, we would add, " How grace- 

108 



fully she uses her hands! " until all three 
were laughing together, the old man and 
myself delighted to think that we could 
please so attractive a young girl. The old 
gentleman must have been in the eighties. 
He wore a little silk cap, and was the old- 
fashioned Frenchman, not the beau; the 
shrewd man of the world, with a kindly 
feeling toward all around him. Aline 
told me he had been coming to Berisal 
for years, and that when any of them had 
occasion to go to Paris, they stayed with 
him in his apartment; that his family were 
all dead, and that he lived quite alone. 

After a little, he bade us good night, 
and took his way wearily to his room, care- 
fully holding the little jug as he faded 
away. 

We had been alone but a few moments 
when Aline changed the conversation from 
French to English, saying, " I like your 
language. Do you know, my favourite 
book is the ' Ingoldsby Legends ' ; I 
109 



have two copies — a large one and a small 
one. I usually carry the small one in my 
pocket. May I go to my room and get 
it? " " I wish you would," I answered. 

Shall I ever forget that evening in the 
cool, quiet atmosphere of the Alps ! It was 
the meeting of May and October, each in 
our own way delighted with the charm of 
flirtation. I recall how my arm half en- 
circled her, barely touching, perhaps 
grazing at times, her dainty waist and 
shoulders, her wavy brown hair almost 
meeting my whitening locks, as we pored 
over her favourite volume, reading aloud 
by turns; and how a tall, ungainly English 
girl came upon us, in pretence of seeking 
a glass from the sideboard, in reality an 
emissary sent down from above by a gos- 
sipy party of her countrywomen to report 
what was going on; and how my little 
friend did not move an inch, whispering to 
me in a half -audible tone, " How I hate 
them, those horrid English girls!"; and 
no 



how, as it neared eleven, the hall porter, 
anxious to break up our sweet hours, be- 
gan clanking his heavy boots as he walked 
up and down the hall, making me uneasy; 
and how she did not want me to go, and 
how angry she made believe to be when I 
said it was really time, and how she looked 
me with flashing eyes half defiantly in the 
face with an expression that said, " Can't 
you let me judge of when we should 
part?" (she was only seventeen) ; and how 
the next morning she came down arrayed 
in a nicely fitting, finely striped gray and 
white silk, a light blue sash around her 
waist, and a ribbon to match, looking so 
sweet and pretty; and how, as we began 
our adieux, in a sad way she said, " Oh, 
I know how it will be. When you come 
to know my sister you will leave me for 
her. It is always so. Everybody likes 
her more than they do me," and nothing 
that I could say seemed to comfort her. 
Her image has often come to my mind, 
in 



at times almost as vividly as when, after 
leaving her, I wended my way alone over 
the Simplon. 

Aline (what an attractive name!) was 
an accomplished linguist, speaking Ger- 
man, French, Italian and English, all with 
great purity. Her uncle, her mother's 
brother, was Father-General of the Je- 
suits, that wonderful organisation where 
aristocracy and democracy combine in- 
geniously to strengthen each other, where 
prince and commoner, seeking to master 
self, rival each other in humble obedience, 
only to rise in the strength of intellectual 
vigour, exalting the mystery within us 
without thought of future reward, leaving 
that to the " Infinite," obedient to rules 
framed long years ago with subtle know- 
ledge of what man is and what he may be, 
never resting, never satisfied, eluding the 
grasp of kings and emperors whose very 
thrones have tottered at the secret edicts of 
the order. What may it mean to be 
112 



Father-General of the Jesuits? Who will 
answer that question? 

Aline came honestly by her powers of 
fascination; it needed but a few drops of 
the blood that flowed in her uncle's veins 
to make her a power in her own little 
world and gently to lead whom she chose 
into pleasing paths. She amused me by 
telling me how their English guests had 
once asked to hold their Sunday services in 
the little chapel that adjoined their house. 
"Did you ever hear anything equal to it?" 
she said. "Those heretics, to dare to ask 
the use of our dear little chapel! They 
got a very short answer from my mother." 

Since those days she has been happily 
married, and we have interchanged several 
letters. I was much disappointed to find 
that she was still in England with her hus- 
band, and was not expected for some 
weeks, and that her health was poor. At 
her mother's urgent solicitation I wrote 
her then and there, telling her if she were 

113 



my child I would bring her back to the 
mountain air, which would do her more 
good than the best doctors of London. I 
was very much pleased lately to receive a 
letter from her, telling me how much bet- 
ter she was, and how disappointed at not 
being at Berisal while I was there. 

To soothe my disappointment, the next 
morning we departed early, arriving at 
Visp in time for lunch before taking the 
train for Zermatt. I was much pleased 
at my son's economical views: having 
some sandwiches with us, he determined 
to save the expense of a poor lunch, and 
be satisfied with them, leaving me to sam- 
ple the watery soup and tasteless chicken. 
I think his hunger was quite as satisfac- 
torily appeased as mine. 

That evening found us comfortably in- 
stalled at the Hotel Mont Cervin at Zer- 
matt. It was the height of the season. 
The little narrow street was crowded with 
all nationalities — Germans predominat- 

114 



ing. A row of hardy-looking guides, 
seated against an iron railing or mingling 
with the crowd, added to the picturesque 
effect. After a table d'hote dinner, a 
game of billiards and a glass of good beer, 
we retired, looking forward to a trip to the 
Gorner Grat by the early morning train. 

July 29th. 

A cloudless day. That magnificent 
scene: the Matterhorn on the right, the 
Breithorn, Lyskamm group, and, last, the 
finest of the snow mountains, Monte 
Rosa, were all spread before us, their out- 
lines sharply marked against the deep 
blue sky. 

As we got out of the train, two guides 
appeared, the larger one asking in pretty 
good English if we wanted a guide. On 
our accepting his proposition, he handed 
over to us the smaller one, Alois. Alois 
knew probably twenty — perhaps I exag- 

115 



gerate — of the most important English 
words, to cover the immediate needs of his 
companions. We decided to walk to the 
Monte Rosa hiltte, which took us across 
the great glacier. We were pleased to 
make a few leaps across narrow crevasses 
with our newly purchased alpenstocks, 
the gurgling water playing beneath us 
around the bright green ice; I was even 
accused of being agile beyond my years. 
We arrived at the hiitte about noon, 
finding there a couple who had preceded 
us, accompanied by their little child. The 
wife bore the marks of a Jewess, and I am 
not quite sure that the husband was not 
also descended from that ancient race. We 
soon fell into conversation, and I was led 
to describe matzoon,my favourite form of 
midday nourishment. When about half 
way through my story, the man to whom 
I was addressing myself lost interest and 
began to talk to the guides. His wife, 
who had more consideration for my feel- 
116 



ings, took up the listener's thread, and 
enabled me to go on, but, needless to say, 
I shortened the story. My son was enjoy- 
ing himself at my expense, a not unpleas- 
ant sensation to me, as it evinced that 
sympathetic knowledge of my feelings 
which has so much to do with the pleasur- 
able companionship of travel. When I 
met this gentleman the following day at 
Zermatt, where he accompanied his little 
daughter, I was less inclined to encourage 
his advances than I would have been if 
he had treated me with more considera- 
tion. 

They had a very cheeky, airy guide, 
who, the lady informed me, told her that 
whenever any people wanted to ascend 
Monte Rosa, however sure he was that they 
were not strong enough to accomplish it, 
he never declined, as he got his pay under 
any circumstances. He put on more airs 
than any Swiss guide I had ever seen, 
smoking cigarettes as he told his experi- 
117 



ences. He made the sensible remark of 
absinthe, " Qa coupe les jambes." 

Returning from the hiltte to the Riffle 
Berg hotel, where we arrived about four 
in the afternoon, we were preceded by the 
man, his wife and little girl, and were 
somewhat surprised to see the man walk 
rapidly away from his wife and child and 
guide, along the precipitous path, which, 
although without danger, is a very un- 
pleasant place to those whose heads are not 
steady. He told us at the Riffle Berg 
hotel that he could not stand having his 
family near him, with the precipice below. 
I understood his nervous feeling, al- 
though I did not think it necessary to tell 
him so, as it seemed to me weak-minded 
in him to leave his wife and daughter. 

We decided to walk down from the 
Riffle Berg to Zermatt, where we arrived 
between six and seven, my muscles very 
sore from the continual descent. The 
evening was passed enjoying billiards, 
beer and music. 

118 



Jimmy was so fresh, and so much de- 
lighted with his first Alpine experience, 
that he arranged with Alois to ascend the 
Breithorn. The afternoon of the follow- 
ing day they set out for the hiitte. As I 
was not in their company, I can only re- 
port that on my son's return I was quite 
satisfied that the journey would have been 
too much for me. If the weather had not 
broken, I think Jimmy would have been 
climbing the mountains up to the last 
day we had to spare at Zermatt. 

July 31st. 

I took the early train for the Gorner 
Grat, hoping with the use of telescopes to 
get a glimpse of Jimmy and his guide on 
the Breithorn. The weather was still fine, 
but the wind had changed, and clouds 
were appearing around the Matterhorn. 

The Gorner Grat hotel is a rude, cheap 
building with something of an esplanade 
in front, on which there are good tele- 
119 



scopes. You put ten pfennigs in the 
slot, and for the space of about two min- 
utes get a fine view, when the disk closes 
over and you are left in darkness until you 
deposit another coin. I had a splendid 
view of a party on the Breithorn, which 
included a lady, deceiving myself with 
the illusion, as I learned later in the after- 
noon from my son, that I was looking at 
him and his friends. It was a beautiful 
sight on that smooth, white snow-bank to 
watch them moving about, sometimes one 
or more sitting down. I saw also some 
five or six on the Matterhorn; high up on 
the peak, they looked a little like flies 
clinging to a perpendicular side. There 
was also a party on the Lyskamm, the 
members of which were evidently contend- 
ing with more or less wind, as they plodded 
through the snow, every now and then 
taking a rest. On Monte Rosa there was 
a party going up, and a party coming 
down. Their relative progress was very 

120 



striking. Altogether it was a most charm- 
ing morning. 

I met Mr. and Mrs. Bayard Cutting, 
who had come up on a later train, and, 
like myself, were delighted with the scene. 

On my return by the cog railroad, a 
French couple sat near me, the lady an- 
nouncing, in plain hearing of many of us, 
that she was suffering from the cold, that 
her underclothing was too light for the 
altitude. Her companion, more particu- 
larly after this remark, seemed socially 
uncomfortable, if not unhappy. Was it 
a " mariage de convenance "! The bride, 
if such she was, was young and good- 
looking, and I could not but admire her 
self-reliance and courage under the ad- 
verse criticism that seemed to surround 
her. 

I had not been long in my room at the 

Mont Cervin before Jimmy appeared. 

It needed but one look to see that he had 

been through quite an experience. The 

121 



guide had given him a stimulant he car- 
ried with him, which, with perhaps the 
rarefied air, had given him a headache. 
He was, however, full of enthusiasm over 
the pleasures of mountain-climbing, and 
of all his experiences in Europe, this, I 
am sure, stands out as the most interesting, 
and one that he hopes to repeat. 

That evening the weather changed. 
The mountains were more or less hidden 
by clouds, and we decided to leave the 
next morning, which we did in a storm of 
rain. One of my last acts was to go into 
the beer-hall to present ten francs to a tall 
Brunhilda, who had one of the most re- 
markable heads of Titian hair that I have 
ever seen. I had asked her playfully the 
evening before if she would answer me a 
question if I gave her five francs. She 
smiled and said : " That would depend on 
what it was." I risked saying to her, " I 
would like to know how near your hair 
comes to touching the floor." I thought 

122 



afterward that perhaps I had been indis- 
creet, hence the manner of my adieu. She 
left the impression on my mind that she 
had been flattered by the interest I had 
taken in her, and all my thought of having 
wounded her feelings was entirely re- 
moved by her cordial adieu. 

In the train we met Messrs. Bannard 
and Dixon, and soon formed a substantial 
travelling alliance. We all determined to 
stop at Vevey, at the Hotel Monet, where 
we arrived about five o'clock. Jimmy and 
I immediately hired a boat, and rowed to 
the bathing establishment, some half hour 
by water from the Monet. The effects of 
the water were delightful. We returned 
by tram, sending our boat back at the ex- 
pense of two francs. A quiet dinner at 
that most excellent of tables, a game of 
billiards, and a short stroll in the town 
finished the evening. 

We had hoped for letters at Zermatt 
from Emilie, telling us where we would 

123 



find her, as we knew she was probably in 
Switzerland. The letters never came 
until after we left; she was at Ville 
Neuve, only a half -hour away. 

I found Vevey had lost none of its 
charm. 

It was during a ten-day trip through 
Switzerland (my first visit), with a party 
ably led by our good friend John Sloane, 
that I received my first impressions of 
the beauty of Lake Geneva. I was so 
charmed that a few weeks later I came 
all the way from England, alone, that I 
might renew the delight. 

Childe Harold is always with me at 
Vevey. As I watch in the distance the la- 
teen sails of the stone-barges slowly ap- 
proaching and recall the lines — 

"This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
To waft me from distraction ' ' — 

I am soothed and lulled into a happy state 
that asks for the moment no companion 
for its perfect enjoyment. 

124 



In fine contrast is the description of a 
thunder-storm. 



Far along, 

From peak to peak the rattling crags among 
Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue, 
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, 
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud! 

And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! 
And now again 'tis black,— and now, the glee 
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, 
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. 



Again and again, as I have looked 
across the lake, I have repeated to my- 
self: 

" Here the Rhone 
Hath spread herself a couch, the Alps have rear'd a 
throne." 

Our visit was all too short for me. Af- 
ter Zermatt, it must have seemed tame to 
Jimmy. 

Taking the one-o'clock train on Au- 
gust second, direct for Paris, we arrived 
there at nine o'clock in the evening. Just 

125 



before coming to Dijon we were informed 
that an accident had happened to the din- 
ing-car, but that we could get baskets, or 
rather boxes, containing dinner, at Dijon, 
and take our meal on the train. I had a 
lively recollection of certain very good red 
wine that I had had in that part of the 
world some twenty years before, so I 
bought two bottles of light Burgundy at 
the station. Our only regret was that it 
had not been three. The genial effect of 
France's generous wine made the time 
pass most pleasantly. As we approached 
Paris a thunder-storm was raging, the 
dark cloud hanging over the city recalling 
the pictures of Michel. My enjoyment of 
the scenes of wood, forest, plain, and sea, 
as I have travelled through France, has 
been much enhanced by my studies of the 
works of French landscape artists. They 
teach one how to look at nature. 

We found every comfort a man can 
ask awaiting us at the Ritz. 
126 



During the ten days previous to our 
sailing we had many pleasant experiences 
which kept us in continued delightful 
sympathy. 

We dined at the Maison Doree. As I 
sat opposite my companionable son, look- 
ing forward to the pleasure of a good din- 
ner in good society, I could not but think 
of how many years ago it was, and what 
a short time it seemed, since I had sat there 
with Dillwyn Parrish, long before I had 
thought of marriage, and how, notwith- 
standing the many events, sad and joyful, 
that had checkered my life since those 
days, how natural it seemed, to be just 
where I was, and how delightful to think 
that I could have brought my son to enjoy 
with me the good things and kind consid- 
eration that I have always received in this 
most excellent of restaurants. Gustave, 
the active but sometimes over-zealous ma- 
jordomo of the back room, had left to 
take charge of a similar establishment at 
127 



Marseilles. Louis still presides over the 
front room. 

I should like to recount what seem to 
me the requirements for a perfect waiter. 
He should be a gentleman at heart, think- 
ing of others, not of himself; his percep- 
tions should be keen; he should never tell 
an untruth; he should veil disappoint- 
ments in attractive language; he should 
be slender (there are excellent waiters 
who are stout: I am speaking of perfec- 
tion) ; he should not approach too near 
to you; he should never desire to overhear 
your conversation (he will learn much 
more by seeming to keep out of the way, 
thus encouraging you to speak more 
freely among yourselves ) ; he should move 
quietly, surely ; his boots should not creak, 
and his attire should be spotless. All 
these qualities Louis possesses. 

The question may be asked, Why should 
a man of such superior nature be satisfied 
with the position of waiter? The answer 

128 



is plain. His ambition goes no farther 
than to excel in the role in which he finds 
himself. The constant intercourse with 
gentlemen of refinement and culture gives 
him a certain enjoyment of good society 
that he could obtain in no other manner. 
As long as he keeps his health, he is sure 
of an income. He has neither the courage 
nor the desire to embark in unknown 
seas. He has more or less before his mind 
the failure of those who have deserted 
good places in the hope of rising in the 
world. In a word, he is happy. His phi- 
losophy is sound, and he is entitled to that 
consideration that men receive who excel 
in whatsoever they undertake that is hon- 
ourable and of benefit to mankind. My 
friend, Edward Tuck, who knows Paris 
better than I do, albeit he may deny the 
soft impeachment, will, I think, bear me 
out in all I say of Louis. 

The Maison Doree is not without its 
tragedy. William, eleventh Duke of 
129 



Hamilton, died from a fall on the stair- 
way au premier. I have heard that, as he 
approached it to descend, with unsure 
step, the maitre d'hotel offered him an 
arm, which, in a lordly way, he declined, 
and a moment afterward slipped and 
plunged headlong. There is another story 
as to how it came about. We will pass 
that by. 

Verdier pere passed away many years 
ago. He it was who brought the cuisine 
to perfection. I have heard him recount 
how he could have fish on the table six 
hours after it had left the sea. His sons 
have not inherited his qualities. One is 
in California, another was concerned in an 
unfortunate dining-club in London, and 
the third, the responsible man, has sold 
his lease. The doors through which thou- 
sands of the gayest of the gay have passed 
to and fro for three quarters of a century 
are now closed forever. The Maison 
Doree was a link between the palmy days 

130 



of the Empire and the present. When I 
first knew it, it was famous as the ren- 
dezvous of viveurs, the very centre of the 
pleasures and the dissipations of the table. 
The boulevard in its immediate vicinity 
has lost much of its brilliancy by the cre- 
ation of the gloomy building of the Credit 
Lyonnais, almost immediately opposite 
and close to the Cafe Anglais, which still 
holds its own, a most worthy neighbour. 
Gay Paris is moving on to the Champs 
Elysees, where Paillard and Laurent at- 
tract the beau monde. 

One is always sure that Paris will not 
go backward in the attractions it offers 
the pleasure-seeker. A city that can re- 
bound so quickly from the horrors of the 
Reign of Terror and the devastation of 
the Commune may be safely trusted for 
the future. 

A few words for the Cafe Anglais : One 
enters on the level of the boulevard, 
touches his hat to the two solemn caissi- 

131 



eres, and, turning to the left, finds himself 
at once in the large salon on the ground 
floor. The quality and size of the table 
linen, the whiteness of the silver, the soft 
carpet and dainty tulle curtains impress 
you with the feeling that you are in excep- 
tional surroundings. The few diners that 
may have preceded you are quite in ac- 
cord with the room: an elderly father, 
with his daughter, whom he would hesitate 
to take to the Maison Doree, in the simpli- 
city of her costume and the refinement of 
her countenance recalling to you the beau- 
tiful lives of the noble women of France, 
as we know them through the memoirs of 
Port Royal; a small party of well-bred 
English people, and perhaps an American, 
anxious to appear to no disadvantage in 
comparison with the standards that sur- 
round him. You are at once of his mind. 
From the moment that your coat is gently, 
one might say affectionately, removed by 
the maitre d'hotel, until you are seated at 

132 



your table, you feel the danger of dis- 
turbing the harmony of the distinguished 
company to which you add yourself with 
the hope that you will not mar the effect. 

I have seen Lord Dudley, with his long, 
wavy hair, and his handsome wife (cer- 
tainly, in those days, one of the most beau- 
tiful women in the world), dining in the 
room I have described, with evident en- 
joyment in each other's society, the same 
afternoon having seen the countess driv- 
ing a handsome pair in her victoria in 
the Bois, her lord in a low seat by her 
side, making one of the choicest of the 
many brilliant sights that one sees in the 
Bois on a fine afternoon, both of them, 
I think, fully aware of the fact. 

A word of comparison between Louis 
of the " Maison d'Or " (the boulevardier 
loves to clip the gilded word) and the 
maitre d'hotel of the " Anglais," whose 
name escapes me, although his form and 
kindly look are before me as vividly as 

133 



of yesterday. We will call him Baptiste. 
He, like Louis, is slender, attired as maitre 
in spotless garments, moves quietly and 
surely, is oblivious to your conversation, 
and leaves a pleasant impression, whether 
he approaches to receive your bidding or 
departs to fulfil it. There is a hectic flush 
on his cheek. You fear he is poitrinaire. 
His faint, languid smile and soft voice do 
not dispel the impression. However, as I 
saw no change in an acquaintance of some 
fifteen years, the fear must be groundless. 
I know not his origin, but think he must 
have English blood in his veins, sufficiently 
diluted to preserve the sympathetic man- 
ner, more or less the gift of the French, 
in the class that serve our personal 
wants. 

An actor at the " Varietes," seeking a 
waiter on which to model himself for the 
role, would choose Louis; an actor of the 
" Francais," on the same errand, would se- 
lect Baptiste; Gustave, to whom I have 

134- 



referred, would suit the " Bouffes Parisi- 
ennes." 

Hesitating, as I have often done, whe- 
ther to dine at the " Maison d'Or " or the 
" Anglais," I can truly say, that, having 
made my choice of the one, I never re- 
gretted that it had not been the other. 
This is perhaps the highest compliment I 
can pay to both. 

Dining " en ville " on one or two occa- 
sions, my son was thrown upon his own re- 
sources for the evening. After consult- 
ing " Baedeker," he informed me he chose 
the " Cafe de la Paix " to dine. I was 
much pleased, when he suggested later on 
that we should go there, to find that he had 
preserved his identity, and was treated 
with great consideration by the waiter 
who had formerly looked after him, and 
who, treating me as my son's guest, gave 
me the pleasure of seeing my son play the 
role of host with ease, and order the din- 
ner, with the assistance of the waiter, much 

135 



as if it were quite a matter of course. It 
was the first time I had ever dined with 
him. 

I had some talk with Jimmy about 
four-in-hand lessons as a means of enter- 
taining him during his stay in Paris. He 
informed me what he wanted were auto- 
mobile lessons, so having passed Sunday, 
August third, at the Golf Club, we in- 
vestigated the automobile question and 
obtained a most satisfactory instructor 
and a small Panhard. 

The first few days after our return to 
Paris were, during the daytime, devoted 
mostly to automobiling by my son, and to 
golf by myself. 

The " Societe de Golf de Paris " has 
added much to the enjoyment of my visits 
to the capital. It is situated within about 
ten minutes' drive from the station, Ver- 
sailles-Chantier, which is but twenty min- 
utes from Mont Parnasse, by express 
136 



train. There are some one hundred acres 
sloping beautifully from the plateau on 
which the club-house is situated. The 
property was formerly a haras, known as 
La Boulie. 

The Bois des Celestins and the Bois des 
Mets lie close to the easterly border; the 
Bois des Gonards with its grand old oaks 
lines the western boundary. Beautiful 
country-places are to be seen, looking 
southward, while to the north, glimpses 
of the small houses, with their red-tiled 
roofs, that are scattered over a large por- 
tion of the environs of Paris, peep out 
from their wooded surroundings. With 
the exception of the tall chimney of the 
gas-works, there is nothing to mar the 
scene in whatever direction you look. A 
few fine old apple-trees add to the beauty 
of one of the slopes, far enough apart to 
make only a reasonable obstruction to the 
course. 

Let us make the round of the links 

137 



with a good player. A little over a hun- 
dred yards from the first tee is a double 
wire fence inclosing a narrow lane. Our 
supposed player drives his ball some 
thirty or forty yards beyond the fence. 
(I have heard many a golf -ball rattle 
against the wire, and exclamations, not 
meant for polite ears, come almost like 
an echo from the disappointed driver.) 
Passing through the gates, we find our- 
selves on the brow of a hill, the first hole 
lying some hundred or more yards below 
us in a sloping hollow. Playing the ball 
with a midiron or mashie to a spot some 
thirty or forty feet to the right of the 
hole, we watch with interest to see where 
it will stop. The distance is not too great 
to permit a skilful approach and a short 
put, thus making the hole in four. 

We now walk a short distance to the 
second tee, from where we drive with an 
iron on to a plateau above us, which we 
cannot see, some one hundred and twenty - 

138 



five yards away. An ugly bunker to the 
right makes it important that our drive 
should be straight, while the forest beyond 
makes it equally important that we should 
not overdo it. Clambering the hill, we 
find the ball on the smooth green. An ap- 
proach put lands us near the hole, and it 
is made in three. 

The third tee is but a few yards off. 
From there we drive over a beautiful ex- 
panse of fair green toward the hole some 
three hundred yards and more away. We 
must beware of the woods on the right, 
where many a ball lies hidden from the 
most expert of caddies, in the ferns and 
shrubs that line the edge of the forest. 
The second stroke lands us close to the 
green. The hole is made in four. 

We are now at the southern boundary 
of the course, and, at a short, safe distance, 
are on the fourth tee, driving back in the 
direction from which we came. An ugly 
hill, with more or less gravel exposed, 
i"9 



faces us over one hundred and fifty yards 
off. We keep to the right of the hill and 
find a good fair green over which to carry 
our ball with a long brassy stroke to the 
hill before us, falling somewhat short, and 
doing the hole in five. 

We now turn to the right again at a 
safe distance, drive southward, and do the 
hole in five. We had expected a four. 

Walking southward to a tee not very 
far from the fifth green, we drive almost 
parallel to the southern boundary of the 
course, taking care not to slice our ball 
into a field of grain on our right, and to 
be sure and cross an ugly bunker, some 
one hundred yards away from us, landing 
on the green just beyond the bunker, and 
doing the hole in three. 

We are now on the easterly boundary 
of the course, where we have a fine five- 
hundred-yard hole to play, with no ob- 
structions worth noting, beyond the fact 
that our strokes must not be sliced, or we 

140 



shall be out of bounds to the right in the 
road. We make it in five. 

A shorter hole, which brings us back in 
the direction in which we have been play- 
ing, is done in four. 

We then drive the ninth hole, and if 
our game is equal to what we have been 
doing, we are easily able to cross the fence 
on our second stroke, landing us on the 
green, and doing the hole in four, thus 
making the first nine in thirty-seven. 

We now keep northward of the fence 
for the remaining holes. 

Not to fatigue the reader, we will avoid 
the detail of the remaining nine holes, 
merely adding that they are interspersed 
with a few fine apple-trees, and being 
longer than the first nine, we may safely 
give our player forty strokes, thus making 
the eighteen holes in seventy-seven, a fig- 
ure which I have readily arrived at on 
paper, but have no hope of equalling or 
even approaching on the course. I have 

141 



heard of players who, with their heads on 
the pillow, played the course nightly 
before falling asleep, invariably making 
good scores. 

The companions one meets there in the 
comparative quiet are a delightful change 
from the hurlyburly of Paris. The sim- 
ple and excellent meals that are served us 
by the obliging Henri complete the com- 
forts and pleasures. 

My son was so interested in the running 
of the automobile that I doubt if he had 
much time to appreciate the attractions of 
the many roads that encircle Paris, over 
which he sped at a high speed. 

I accepted his invitation for a trip to 
Fontainebleau. We left the Ritz about 
ten in the morning. Our chauffeur, a 
blond about thirty years of age, had a 
sharp, keen-cut air about him that inspired 
confidence (and I know of nothing that I 
was more in need of as we clattered 
through the busy and, at times, over- 

142 



crowded streets of Paris at a brisk rate, 
than that very thing — confidence). He 
gave no attention to my repeated requests 
to reduce his speed. I suppose he thought, 
as I was in his power, he did not propose 
to consider my feelings. I finally told him 
it was all very well for him to dash ahead 
at the rate he was going, on the ground 
that he knew his rights, but if an accident 
happened, it would do no good to say that 
it was not his fault, and unless he went a 
little slower, I wished to get out. Words 
to this effect finally brought him to terms, 
and our pace was more to my liking. He 
made me his friend by placing Jimmy in 
full control of the machine for most of the 
time, keeping, I could see, a close watch on 
all around us, but making my son feel the 
full responsibility of running the auto for 
nearly our entire journey. 

How straight is the road to a father's 
heart for those that know to find it! 

I was very much interested in the vil- 

143 



lages outside the eastern side of Paris. 
The little imitation chateaux, with their 
pruned lime-trees, trimmed to imitate 
those in the great parks and gardens, the 
careful cultivation, the little plots of 
ground, and the general picturesque ef- 
fect that everything French has, were 
most interesting. 

And when finally we had left the great 
city and all its surroundings behind us, 
and found ourselves on a long, straight, 
well-built road, running through magnifi- 
cent forests and past beautifully tilled 
farms, sometimes without a living object 
to be seen on the roadway for miles be- 
fore us, I became entirely reconciled to a 
speed of thirty miles an hour, and fully 
appreciated the exhilaration which this 
new mode of travel carries with it. 

It was a beautiful day, and our stroll 
through the park at Fontainebleau, where 
we entertained ourselves by feeding the 
carp and taking kodak pictures, was de- 

144 



lightful. The journey back was equally 
enjoyable until we came to the narrow 
streets of the villages, and there my 
nerves were sorely tried by the manner in 
which our chauffeur dominated the situa- 
tion. It was as much as to say: "You 
had better get out of the way, or I '11 run 
over you. I 'm sorry you do not like it, 
but I can't help it." 

When we descended, about six in the 
evening, in front of the Kitz hotel, I had 
that tired feeling that even forty-five holes 
of golf would not have brought me, and 
yet I am not ready to say that I would 
not like to take the trip over again, when- 
ever it presents. The country of France 
is so constantly interesting that I feel 
quite ready to accompany my son, on some 
future occasion, on excursions of even a 
more extended character. 

Helen arrived from Germany a day 
or two before our departure, and our 
little family had less than the usual 

145 



struggle with the shopkeepers, dress- 
makers, etc. 

During the two or three days before we 
departed for Cherbourg, we had a very- 
pleasant dinner at the Vendome, where I 
enjoyed making Helen and Jimmy ac- 
quainted with my friend Mr. Mink, of 
Boston. 

I had the pleasure of taking my son to 
the " Theatre Francais " for the first time. 
We saw " Les Plaideurs," and I was 
much pleased to find that he could en- 
joy it. I remember so well my first ef- 
forts to enjoy a French play. The tor- 
ture of not fully understanding the lan- 
guage was a constant insult to my intelli- 
gence. 

The " Theatre National de la Comedie 
Francaise " is not only an institution of 
France, it is an institution of the civilised 
world. The privilege of the " Faubourg," 
like that of the intellectual society of Bos- 
ton or the good old families of Philadel- 

146 



phia, is for the favoured few; time that 
chooses its friends arbitrarily has affixed 
its cachet to all three. 

The " Theatre Francais " is a charming 
reality of to-day, where the costumes, 
manners, and literature of both the past 
and the present are presented with fidel- 
ity, purity, and good taste. 

The stranger, arriving in Paris, who 
seeks to know the French, cannot do bet- 
ter than take a thorough course at the 
" Francais." He should carefully read the 
piece before seeing the play, carefully 
re-read it after having seen it, and then 
it is to be hoped that he will wish to see 
it played again. He should never take the 
libretto with him to the theatre. His sur- 
roundings do not permit him to give it the 
proper study in the entr'actes, and* if it 
is before him when the curtain is up, his 
eye is distracted from the stage, not to 
speak of the fact that he is displeasing 
the artists, who do not like to be followed, 
147 



book in hand, by one as near them as his 
fauteuil should be to permit him to en- 
joy to the full their individual talent. 
Some of the actors and actresses he will 
understand clearly, as each word is beau- 
tifully pronounced by them. Others he 
will find it difficult to follow, even if he 
knows by heart what they are saying. 
Little by little, familiarity with their 
voices will, however, remove the difficulty, 
and in time he will find himself assuming 
the attitude of a critic. 

I recall the days when the name of Co- 
quelin aine on the bill settled the question, 
if I were in doubt, where I should pass the 
evening. He never came upon the scene 
without arousing a sensation of pleasure 
and stimulating your interest in the piece. 

The performances of the Grand Opera 
at Paris leave with me a more lasting im- 
pression than similar performances in 
other cities. It is not in the leading parts 
that Paris excels. It is in the setting, the 

148 



orchestra, the chorus, the ballet, and the 
scenery, that there is a charm that I do not 
find elsewhere. Madame Breval, in the 
Metropolitan Opera House, is not to me 
the same Madame Breval that I have seen 
in Paris. That part of the performance 
that appeals to the senses is so far superior 
to that which New York offers, that a 
feeling of delight remains with you after 
the curtain has fallen, and it is only as you 
descend the steps, and make one of the 
great throng that pours down the magnifi- 
cent staircase out into the Place de 
l'Opera, that you are brought back to the 
realities of life. 

We saw Saint- Saens' " Samson and 
Delilah," Madame Heglon giving a re- 
markable impersonation of the heroine. 
As she comes upon the scene, with a coif- 
fure of brilliant flowers that her magnifi- 
cent presence carries with ease, bearing a 
cup in her hand, with outstretched arm ap- 
proaching the blind, dejected Samson, 

149 



who with bowed head is nurturing ven- 
geance in abject sorrow, " Lame triste 
jusqu'a la mort," she pours forth to him 
in her splendid contralto voice these 
taunting words: 

Souviens-toi de nos ivresses! 
Souviens-toi de raes caresses! 
L'amour servait mon projet 
Pour assouvir ma vengeance. 
Je t'arrachai ton secret; 
Je l'avais vendu d'avance. 
Tu croyais a cet amour. 
C'est lui qui riva ta chaine; 
Dalila venge en ce jour 
Son dieu, son peuple et sa haine. 

I felt I had never before fully realised 
the Bible story until I saw Heglon and 
Rousseliere. Salvini may impress us with 
the grandeur of Samsons suffering ; it re- 
quires Heglon to explain it. 

Paris seems to force from her artists 
the limit of their powers. The severity of 
its criticisms, the sweetness of its discrimi- 
nating praise, stimulate, encourage, and 
perfect them; and be they French, Beige, 
Austrian, Italian, Swede, Dane or Amer- 

150 



ican, they seek diligently to win the ap- 
proval of the critics of this art centre of 
the world. 

On the morning of August 13 we 
were all up bright and early, to take the 
8.50 train from St. Lazare Station. A 
large blue and white placard, "Trein pour 
New York," marks the entrance to the 
platform of the train. This announce- 
ment certainly presents the two great 
capitals together in one's mind. 

We had an hour or two at Cherbourg 
before the departure of the tug, which en- 
abled us to see the forlorn little bathing 
establishment of which the town boasts. 

About five in the afternoon the " Kron- 
prinz " rounded the western end of the 
breakwater, and as our tug came along- 
side her lofty bulwarks, we had the fa- 
miliar sight of the Atlantic liner in all its 
surroundings, passengers, stewards, crew, 
and sometimes cooks, looking over the rail 
to see their incoming freight, the rushing 

151 



up and down the gang-planks, the crew 
bearing all kinds of baggage, from canary- 
birds in cages to massive trunks, which lat- 
ter have always seemed to me to be an im- 
position, and I can imagine a new " In- 
ferno " compelling the millionaires to pass 
more or less of eternity shouldering huge 
Vuitton trunks, which they are forced to 
carry to a great height, only to plunge 
them down where the Fates would com- 
pel them, to return and continue their use- 
less labour. I think the law might well be 
evoked to limit the size and weight of 
travellers' trunks. 

One of the principal events of our jour- 
ney across the Atlantic was a sad hour or 
two, when Jimmy and I retired to our 
state-rooms to consider whether we would 
confess we were seasick or not. We 
looked into each other's downcast faces 
and exchanged a sickly smile. I think I 
said something about the pleasures of our 
Southampton home. Fortunately for us, 

152 



the heavy sea began to abate, and we man- 
aged to put in an appearance at the din- 
ner-table. We were all glad, however, to 
think how rapidly 550 miles a day brings 
one across the Atlantic. 

Helen kept her berth most of the time, 
and was wonderfully cheerful in what al- 
most might be called her little cell. 

We came up the harbour early on the 
morning of the nineteenth, passed the cus- 
tom-house with a reasonable payment of 
duties, and were in all the delights of our 
Southampton house by six o'clock that 
evening. 

Thus ended a most delightful trip to 
Europe. Let us hope that there are many 
more yet in store. 



153 



